


How to Sell Your Soul and Buy It Back

by WhatIfIAmInsane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Deal with a Devil, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, absolutely not sticking to canon, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIfIAmInsane/pseuds/WhatIfIAmInsane
Summary: Sherlock made a deal with the devil, quite literally. After years of drug abuse and neglect his body wouldn’t let him go on. Obviously, it happened right when he had finally found something to make his life interesting. The logical response was to offer his soul in exchange for a working transport. That had happened when he was 27. Now, at 34, he gets an unexpected visitor. The devil needs a favour and is offering Sherlock’s soul as payment.





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, this will be an attempt by me to write a long(er), multi-chapter case fic. It is all planned out but not yet written, therefore you should be weary of any update promises I might make. I plan to write this fic in 3 Acts each containing 4 chapter (except the first which has only 3 because there is an Exposition) plus an additional Epilogue. When I update I will update in burst, meaning every time I finish writing the 4 chapters in one act, I will post them with a day or two in between. Since, I am still heavily involved in Uni and work, this might mean that between these burst there can (more possibly will) be a longer wait. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoy the idea. I’m not yet adept at handling long story lines, therefore this will probably be a learning experience for all of us :)
> 
> By the way, ratings and tags might change as the story progresses.

_2003_

 

He had enjoyed ten years of being totally irresponsible. Sherlock had to admit the fatal beauty of it. When he had lashed out at his parents with 17, cutting every connection they might still have had to him, his life had been worth nothing. The drugs had promised to be a pleasant distraction, letting him escape his ever racing mind. At first, he had been confident that he could control it. But the older he got, the more he noticed, the harder it became to not jump the walls with all the information his brain was trying to process. Mycroft’s tedious attempts to keep him in any University for long had failed within two years after that. Teenage-him had been incredibly pleased at how he had managed to best his older brother. Gloating at his own ingeniousness, he tumbled down a path of drug abuse. The consequences never bothered him. His life, boring enough as it was, held no value to him.

At 20, he was content with the idea of dying young. It would make for a much prettier picture, wouldn't it? No one wants to look at you when you are 80, dead or alive. It would be better if he died before the effects of natural aging could be seen negatively on his face.

At 24, he seemed to be actively working towards that goal. He had cultivated a costly cocaine addiction, in combination with a taste for nicotine. Whenever things got particularly bad during that time, Sherlock could count on two things to happen. First, Mycroft would have him hospitalised, only to see his brother escape yet again. Then, Sherlock would get a visit form a crossroad daemon. They always tried to strike a bargain, get him away from the drugs in exchange for his soul, or a lot of money in exchange for his soul, or similar. They always wanted his soul for whatever wish he could name. Sherlock used to laugh in their faces. How could they be so pedestrian as to think, they had anything to offer to him. His last visitor had come when he was just about to shoot up again, after having escaped a particularly well-guarded hospital ward. Sherlock knew what he wanted, so he had just grinned at the daemon and send him away with the words:

"If I ever made a deal, it would only be with the devil himself."

Then he had pushed the liquid joy into his veins and the daemon had disappeared. Sherlock had thought of it as another victory. Oh, how wrong he had been; young and stupid and too full of himself.

 

Now, he was 27 and at the brink of death. Diagnosed with multiple organs ready to or already failing, there was nothing even his brother pulling the strings of the British government could do. Sherlock was dying and he hated it.

With a sigh he pushed the door to his tiny flat close behind him. A year earlier and he might have been glad about the prospect of it all being over soon. But now, now he finally had found something worth his time. There was something to occupy his mind, calm his racing neurons, and now his body wanted to pull him away. Sherlock picked up the brown case file from his kitchen table and opened it. The murder was an old one but he was sure, something during the investigation had gone awry. It had taken Sherlock days to convince the inspector to let him take a look - well, days and getting 100% clean. Sherlock laughed bitterly as he threw the file across the room. He had given up his ten year drug habit three weeks ago and now it decided to kill him.

There weren't many options left. In all honesty, Sherlock could only think of one and that was probably stupid - stupid and very silly. Still, if you are dying, there is not much you have to loose. Sherlock squared his shoulders and spoke to the emptiness in his flat. "Hey, let's talk about that deal again."

 

Of course nothing happened. There was only the ever present silence answering back. "Apparently, this only works with appointment" he sighed and turned around, wanting to step into his kitchen area. It had been a naive idea from the get-go. How could he have believed that the evil forces would jump at his whim? Before he could take more than two steps though, he walked into a small, broad-shouldered man who had appeared out of nowhere.

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock shouted, still a bit shocked that none of his senses had picked up the presence of another human in his flat. How out of his mind was he?

The man crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked up at him, with stern, blue eyes. "The devil, and I have to admit, I don't often get to talk to someone like you."

Sherlock tried every trick and method he had picked up over the years to figure out if this wasn't just some nutter who had gained access to his flat.

"You made it very clear that should you ever make a deal, you would only do so with me", the man said nonchalantly walking around Sherlock further into his meagre flat, "I had a spot of free time so I'm indulging you."

Sherlock took a deep breath, taking his time to look at the person who pretended to be the devil. He was smaller than him, had dark blond hair, blue eyes, a face that he would pin at around 35. His idea of fashion was thoroughly askew since he was wearing an awful oatmeal coloured, knitted jumper and a simple pair of blue washed jeans. Even the daemons he had met, looked more the part.

"Are you done with judging my appearance?" there was a slight smirk around the man’s lips, "Believe me, I'm the devil. You called so go on what is it you want?"

"Prove it", Sherlock quickly stepped back and threw a hard, calculating gaze at the other, "I'm not telling you anything until you prove who you are."

The man sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, "And you suggest I do that how exactly?"

That was something Sherlock hadn't thought about. Taken aback he needed a few seconds to come up with something, which would be extremely unlikely for a human to achieve. "Levitate something without touching it."

"Really, that's what you're going for? I never had to prove to anyone that I actually am who I am. This world is just getting stranger and stranger" the man grumbled annoyed but more to himself, "Well, if it means I can get back quicker. Here you go. Hell, I feel like a circus clown."

Sherlock wasn't paying attention anymore to what the other said because he felt the ground disappearing under his feet. He shrieked slightly when he noticed that the thing, which was being levitated, was his body. It wasn't possible, no. There were fundamental physical forces. No human could ever set them out of effect. Except if… Sherlock believed he really was talking to the devil himself.

 

"I'm sure you are aware of the rules?" the devil mentioned a bit impatient, setting Sherlock down on the ground again, when he saw the realisation in the other's eyes.

"Yes, yes your little minions have made that point clear time and time again. It's my soul against whatever I ask for." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively at the devil. His mind was still racing with the data it just had been fed. It was interesting, oh so interesting. Why wasn't the devil like anything one ever heard of or even anything close to his daemons. Sherlock knew it wasn't important now but he couldn't help wondering. He only heard the other speak as background noise.

"You really don't listen, do you?" the devil sighed, "They weren't exaggerating, you are a right piece of work."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock said affronted by the implication.

"It's not just your soul against 'everything you ask for'" the devil actually used air quotes, "It's your soul and whatever else we see fit regarding the enormity of your wish. Besides, not everything is payable by a human, otherwise we would have a lot of people without souls ruling the world."

That was when Sherlock started to pay attention to what was being said instead of the questions in his mind. They were pushed right to the back, to be investigated after this was over.

The devil looked at him and asked with a calm voice, "What is it that you desire so much that, after all this time, you want to strike a bargain?"

Sherlock swallowed and looked down for a moment, he needed to think about his wording because it would probably make all the difference. After all, he was dealing with the devil. He didn't doubt for a moment his words wouldn't be twisted in his mouth. "I'm dying. Multiple of my inner organs have failed or will fail within the next weeks. I have a life expectancy of about two weeks outside the hospital, four at most with intensive care. I need all the organs inside my body except my brain working the way they did before I started taking drugs. With that my life expectancy will be increased dramatically and I can continue my work."

The devil raised an eyebrow in surprise, "What is it you do that suddenly reversed your outlook on life? I've been told you are a hopeless case, hell bend on self-destruction."

"I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world" Sherlock quickly answered with not a small amount of pride. The title had taken a bit to come up with. His duties though had been as clear as day when by chance he had stumbled across a crime scene. His quick-fire solution to the case had kept the officer from asking too many questions. But the feeling afterward had bested every cocaine hit, he ever had.

"And what is that?"

"I help the police when they are out of their depth, which is always", he explained. For the devil the other was incredibly slow, Sherlock doubted for a moment if this had been a good idea.

"So, you are playing private detective. That is oddly endearing given your past", the devil chuckled.

"Not private detective, consulting detective. I do actually know what I'm doing" Sherlock growled and quickly picked up the file he had chucked across the room earlier. "Here, Thomas Brown, 42, single, killed on March 21st, 1998. His body showed no signs of abuse or struggle. The Toxicology report came back clean, no poisoning. His body didn't show a trace of a reason for his death. He just died. Police decided it was spontaneous heart failure and didn't investigate further. The problem is, he was as healthy as a man could be and no hereditary diseases or heart problems present in his family. Spontaneous heart failure doesn't make sense, there is more to it and I NEED to know what it is."

"Wow" the devil looked at him with something akin to wonder in his gaze, "You really are good at this, aren't you?"

Sherlock blinked a few times, "Yes, I am."

"That's why you need the deal? To finish that investigation?"

"That and future ones. It would be illogical to sell my soul for the solution to one crime. Like I said, I want my normal life expectancy back", Sherlock said clearly. He was rocking back and forth on his feet now. He wasn't used to having to justify himself in front of anyone.

"Ah, there is the slight problem" the devil sighed.

"You're the devil, nothing should be a problem for you."

"Well, not for me but for you and your payment." the devil took a few steps through Sherlock's flat, it seemed like he tried to decide whether he could risk sitting down somewhere, "You see, you've run down your body quite a bit. It's not just restoring a kidney or getting rid of a smoker's lung. I can't cheat death for you and only get your soul as payment, not for long anyway. What I can do is give you 13 more years. I get your soul and you until you are 40 to do as you like, then you'll go the way you are trying to escape now."

Sherlock's heart fell, "Is my soul only worth that little?"

"Oh, no your soul is worth as much as any other but your body is in a really poor state" the devil smirked and with the wave of his hand a parchment appeared, "Read it, then sign it. I'll wait but I won't do so forever."

Right when Sherlock's fingers touched the parchment, the devil was gone and he was alone again. Sherlock allowed himself to crumple to the floor, contract clutched in his hands. It took him a moment to compose himself enough to read the words.

 

Perhaps the most surprising element was the dryness of it all. Somehow he had expected more flourish, more drama, just more. If you made a deal with the devil, you would assume some grand sweeping formulations and the impending doom resonating in each word. This was just a plain contract, as if Sherlock were to rent a flat or buy a car. It stated the transaction, the requirements and the conditions under which it would stay intact. "Of course there are pitfalls" Sherlock murmured as he read over rules he would have to follow for the upcoming 13 years. He had already decided what to do the moment, he had called for the devil. Of course he had hoped for more, but it was his own fault he would only get a short grace period. With a deep sigh he took his pen and put it to the paper. 'It was entirely too easy to subscribe to eternal damnation' was his thought as he wrote his name. What a disappointment, he didn't even have to sign in blood.

"Do you know how rancid it would get if I let everyone sign in blood? I'm not the blood bank, I'm the devil." Sherlock heard annoyed words behind him.

"I just expected there to be… more" Sherlock shrugged and turned around. He just sold his soul to that man, so he was allowed a bit of complaining.

"More?" the devil raised an eyebrow as the parchment disappeared, "Sorry, I'm not your personal horror show but I'll guess we'll see each other in 13 years then. Have fun, it will be the last you'll have for all eternity."

 

Sherlock sat in the darkness of his flat for the rest of the night.  He would live but he had sold his soul for it. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He never wanted to die less. 

 

 

_2010_

 

He was still high from the chase. That crime had been a particularly stimulating one. A victim in a locked room within a locked room mystery. It had entertained him for a whole week until he had figured out what happened. After that, finding the culprit had been the work of a mere day. Still, the conclusion to such a wonderful distraction always left Sherlock swimming in endorphins. Lestrade had let him go since he figured he wouldn’t have any success with getting a statement from the consulting detective, even if he chained him to a chair.

“Mrs. Hudson” Sherlock called as soon as the front door fell shut, “A tea would be lovely.”

“Oh, did you find him then?” the elderly landlady poked her head out of the door.

“Yes” Sherlock grinned, which tended to look slightly manic.

“That’s all good then” she smiled fondly at his glee, “One less bad person on the streets. Makes it a lot safer for the rest of us.”

“Mrs. Hudson, you of all people should know it’s never save.” Sherlock reminded her, striding up the stairs to his flat. “I would really appreciate tea.”

“And I’m not your landlady, dear.”

“Milk, one sugar” Sherlock just answered and opened his door.

 

A quick glance at his living room stopped him dead in his tracks. He hadn’t noticed a visitor downstairs but then he believed that even if he had tried, he wouldn’t have found out before the other wanted him to. Somehow, Sherlock really had hoped he wouldn’t need to see him again before… before it was time.

“You’ve bettered your standards remarkably since the last time I saw you.” Sherlock could be mistaken, no he never was mistaken, the voice sounded almost impressed. “Still, a bit of a mess and your kitchen is a bio-hazard catastrophe waiting to happen.”

 

“What do you want?” Sherlock’s electric mood had suddenly disappeared, “My time isn’t up yet.”

“No, it’s not. You’re right” the devil shook his head and claimed one of the armchairs in front of the fire. He behaved as if he owned the place. Well, he owned Sherlock, so it was all the same. “Sit down, please”

“I’d rather not” Sherlock gritted out, feeling more comfortable at a perceived safe distance. Additionally, he didn't want to be commandeered about. He had hated it as a child, and over the past years, he had gotten even more particular in that regard.

“And I’d rather want you to sit”

Sherlock felt himself be pulled forward by an invisible force until he, against his will, found himself in the other armchair. His jaw was set tightly. He knew the contract in and out, he hadn’t made a mistake. So what did the other want? The problem was that Sherlock couldn’t deduce the devil. The devil wasn’t a person, even if he appeared to be one, and therefore none of his methods worked. It put Sherlock down on the same level as ordinary humans, having to rely on verbally given information and their correctness. To a certain degree that experience was annoying, stressful and utterly anxiety inducing.

 

The devil fixed him with his eyes. He looked exactly the same as seven years prior: smallish, broad shoulders, dirty blond hair and appalling dress sense. It only was a small comfort to Sherlock that the devil apparently liked consistency.

"I need a favour"

"I don't work for free" Sherlock quickly bit out harshly. It wasn't entirely true. The Yard got his services without having to pay the consultation fee. The devil on the other hand already owned something of Sherlock, so he would definitely not give away more. There was a line to good will and the devil had never been on the right side of it.

The devil snapped his fingers and held out his hand. A pale, ghostly thing appeared in the palm of it. It didn't take on a solid shape or form, it just seemed to be without definition.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked curiously, leaning forward in his chair to get a better look at it.

The devil tilted his head to the side, looking at his palm. Calmly he hummed, "Your soul."

Sherlock sucked in a breath and moved back as if he had touched fire. Over the past seven years he had successfully managed to push the fact that he had sold his soul to the back of his head. After all, he hadn't done it to live in constant fear.

The devil looked back up at Sherlock, "It's your payment." His voice turned serious when he saw the other's slightly misapprehensive gaze "If you help me, you can have it back."


	2. The Devil's Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this we start the 1st Act. I will post the three chapters which belong to this Act in short(ish) succession, meaning every 2 days. After that it’s back to waiting until I finish the next Act. Have fun. :)

\---- Act 1----

 

Sherlock stayed silent for quite a long time. Seven years ago, he had finalised the end of eternity for himself, or at least so he had thought. Now, there apparently was an opportunity to change the course of his life. He had made many mistakes in the past and right here the devil of all people gave him the chance to make it all up. Of course, he was slightly shocked into immobility. No amount of superior intellect could save you from that small moment of embarrassment. When you suddenly get a chance you had given up long ago, your new outlook took a moment to settle in. At least, this was what Sherlock told himself as he felt his mind practically reboot.

"This isn't a trick?" he asked, flicking his gaze back and forth between the devil and the object which apparently was his soul. It looked quite sad and unimpressive for something which had the ability to alter one’s life.

"No" the devil sighed and shook his head, "We tried everything else already. If you manage to solve my case, you've earned it."

"It won't simply reverse the contract and leave me to die?" Sherlock wanted to cover his bases before he let the spark of hope grow bolder in his chest. The case itself was unimportant. If it was something routed in the real world, he would be able to solve it. The payment though still seemed too flimsy. He had no guarantee the devil wasn't simply using him. After all, wasn't his opposite the incarnation of all evil? 

"I knew you'd be concerned about that part" the devil smirked and shook his head. Sherlock’s soul disappeared from his hand as easily as it had been summoned. "Believe me, I'm desperate enough to let you write up the conditions. Just keep in mind that I still don't need to accept them. So be reasonable if you want your soul back." A piece of parchment, the same kind the initial contract had been written on, appeared. The devil handed it to Sherlock who took it with caution.

"Know that whatever you write on that piece will be binding and part of the contract, no matter if it's crossed out or otherwise obliterated beyond recognition" the devil warned him but didn't make a move to leave him alone.

"You want me to write the contract now?" Sherlock asked, although more rhetorical. The intentions were pretty clear and his head was already running down the appropriate paths of his mind palace.

"Yes, I will wait but not forever" the devil grinned and settled down more comfortably in his armchair, "Get going, the quicker we've got the formalities over with, the quicker we can sort out this shoddy business. I really don't enjoy being in this much trouble."

 

Sherlock moved slowly, getting up from his armchair and moving towards what once had been a desk. By now, it was just another flat surface buried in old case files, notes, research papers and curiosities. He pushed away a few things to open up a space to work.

"I'm probably not allowed a note pad?"

"I thought you called yourself a genius."

"That is a no" Sherlock murmured and put the parchment down in front of him. Taking up his pen, he stalled for a moment. He needed to force his mind to compose sentences and paragraphs which would leave no room for twisting. Something told him that in contrast to daemon deals this kind wasn't done often. After all, the devil had produced the last contract at the snap of a finger and this one had yet to be written. There was no doubt this one would be under intense scrutiny. Even a little mistake could snatch away everything.

 

It took Sherlock half an hour of thinking before he dared to put his pen to the parchment. He had never in his life exerted so much concentration on the writing of a document as he was now. In fairness, no other document had ever held the chance to change something irreversible into nothingness. Sherlock felt the added weight on his shoulders. It didn't help that the devil was still sitting just a few feet away from him, very clearly observing every minuscule move he made.

In the end, there was no need to read over it again, as he couldn't change anything even if he found a mistake. With a deep breath Sherlock set his own signature underneath the document first. He could practically hear his brother chiding him for how idiotic he was being. With an iron grip on his mind, he pushed down the thoughts. After all, he had already done the stupid thing seven years earlier. Now, he was only trying to get himself out of the corner he had backed himself into. Not even Mycroft could be disapproving of that much initiative.

As soon as his pen lifted, the parchment fluttered away from the table into the devil's waiting hand. "Let's see what you've come with." he murmured, reading the handwritten words. That he was suprised at what he read was the least to say. The sentences were clean cut, no superflous subordinate clauses or conjunctions. Intentions behind each paragraph were obvious and watertight. After just a few lines, he knew there wouldn't be a loop hole to find. Sherlock had thought of everything, making sure that not only his soul would be transfered in whole and its original state, but also that no daemon or devil would have a right to recall the deal. Furthermore, he made sure his timer until death would be reset to run the course of a normal human being, specificly one that hadn't heavily experimented with recreational substances in his youth. What made the devil smirk, was a little line about how every daemon who would from then on show up to strike a deal, would automatically consent to being used in any experiment Sherlock could think of. That would definitely keep them on their toes and he apprechaited how even under pressure Sherlock couldn't help but keep that little edge. All in all, there really was nothing to hold against this contract.

 

Sherlock used the time to stretch out his hand and wriggle his fingers. He had held the pen a bit too forcefully which lead to a slight cramp now spreading through the muscles. It wasn't something that wouldn't easily disappear, but it was annoying. Especially, since in the process he noticed a slight tremor. The stress was manifesting itself in his limbs and Sherlock didn't approve of it. How should the devil take him seriously if he was shaking at the thought of writing a legal document?

"You've been very thorough" the devil hummed in what sounded like an impressed tone, "I could definitely use more people of your skill. It would save me quite a bit of hassle in the end."

Sherlock found himself smiling tentatively. A compliment was a compliment, even if it suggested an eternal life as a personal servant in hell.

"Well, I can go with that" the other nodded finally and a bright red Sigel appeared next to Sherlock's signature, "Now this is done, why don't you come back here so we can go over the case?" The parchment disappeared and Sherlock felt that unknown force tug at him once more.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to have tea first" he said, slightly annoyed by the way his body wasn't under his control, "You seem to have settled in for a longer story and I do like my tea with them."

The devil rolled his eyes but let Sherlock go, who took the chance to hurry off to the kitchen immediately. He didn't really care one way or another about the tea but it gave him a moment alone. Something he desperately needed right now was a moment alone. No one ever should make two daemon deals and here he was. He had even gone right to the top and made them both with the devil himself. Slowly, Sherlock thought all the claims about him being insane might not be that far off after all. Defying siblings was one thing but whoring yourself out to the devil quite another.

 

The water boiled way too quickly for Sherlock's liking and soon he found himself in his armchair again, opposite his unwanted visitor.

Better to get started then he though with a heavy heart but said, "Go on, what does the devil need me for?"

The devil chuckled, "Like I told you: I have a case and the last time we met you sold your soul to solve cases. It's only logical I would come here, isn't it?"

"Yes, if one ignores the fact that you are not human and therefore shouldn't be bound to the problems of earthly life." Sherlock pointed out the minuscule flaw in the logic. "After all Earth is the only place I can employ my skills on because I know the rules."

"I might not be human but my problem is so very much." the devil added gravely. He even sounded annoyed which came as a curve ball to Sherlock.

"Excuse me, but I don't think I quite understand."

"I should probably offer more information to you." the devil hummed and looked at the fireplace for a moment before igniting it with a grin, "Feels more like home."

"Wouldn't want someone to feel uncomfortable" Sherlock murmured under his breath, raising his mug carefully to his lips. It really felt like he would need to settle in for quite the story. Who would have thought the devil was one for long chit chat.

 

His restlessness seemed to have shown a bit. The devil collected himself a bit and in an attempt to probably intimidate Sherlock, he said, "It is a matter of great importance. I hope you are aware of that at all times."

"I assumed it would be. Otherwise you'd have managed it yourself or one of your minions had" Sherlock was irritated. He needn't be treated like a child. There was a case and he wanted to get to it, not least because he wanted his payment.

With a raised eyebrow the devil laughed, "You opinion of us really needs improvement."

"I think offering to help you is all the improvement of opinion you can expect."

"I know reputation isn't so great when you go around condemning people to eternal pain." the devil raised his hands in defence, "Well, technically they are doing it to themselves, and we just facilitate it a bit."

"The case" Sherlock reminded him impatiently. For being the evil overlord of the underworld the devil got side-tracked a lot, Sherlock noticed with annoyance. He feared this case would get as convoluted to deal with as his other private ones. Somehow, he had hoped a non-human client would be easier to work with than a human one. In terms of coming to the point and presenting all important information in a structured way, he had to concede that apparently everyone was just 'human'. 

"Ah, yes. Well" the devil fixed him with an intense glare, "You have to know that we really tried everything else. You are not the first person I sought out. We have our methods and usually they work quite well, or at least they help us to get rid of minor inconveniences."

"Then I assume this is a big inconvenience."

"Well, it did cause quite the stir." the devil nodded, "The thing is: Daemons usually don't ask for reasons. Souls are quite valuable and obviously there is a quota to meet otherwise you couldn't run this organisation. This just means that when someone wants to sell his soul, you can bet on them coming running and doing whatever you want no questions asked."

"The way you tell this, it seems like your problem originated in your 'no questions asked'-policy. Really, if you want to see yourself as the CEO of the Soul Eating Company." Sherlock saw the dangerous glares his words earned him but he continued, fed up with the other talking around the issue, "You should regulate them quite a bit more. Nevertheless, you didn't and therefore you have a problem now. So, tell me about the problem." The words of his last sentence were all pronounced individually, hopefully conveying his urgency.

It was obvious that the devil had to reign himself in, rendering the situation even more interesting for Sherlock. He knew, he was treading on thin ice but apparently he really could offer the devil something he needed. Interesting, leverage points were always interesting and useful.

 

"Okay" the devil sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, "Someone is using other people to get deals, effectively making them sell their souls and then killing them. Since the souls weren't rightfully sold in the beginning it causes a lot of trouble and mostly leaves us without payment. Whoever does this, goes about it cleverly. He never gets the same daemon twice, we don't know when the next deal will come and we don't know who he is."

"Couldn't you as the devil of all, have waved your hands about and visited him. I'm sure you have your ways."

"I don't wave my hands about and no. No, believe me I tried. You simply can't latch onto him. He probably is living in a holy fort and always carries something blessed with him. No one of us can even get close. I just figured that since his victims are very mortal and turn up dead on your streets, there might actually be a case another mortal could solve. Just because I can't get close doesn't mean another human couldn't. By now I've exhausted my means to the end that hiring you was the only option left, besides letting him continue obviously." the devil was gritting his teeth. Sherlock realised there was more to this story than he was being told. He made a mental note. If he wanted a shot at solving this case, he would need all the information which included delving deeper into the workings of daemon deals. He wasn't looking forward to that specific part if he was honest.

"And obviously you couldn't let him do that. He's too evil for you or what is it?" Sherlock's preferred method of defence was to attack and while it could get potentially dangerous, it might also get enough of a rise out of the other to reveal bypassed information.

The devil scrunched up his nose, "Let's call it professional pride."

"And you're sure he's human?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. If he had to go up against the supernatural, he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Yes" the devil nodded "Like I said: If I hadn't exhausted all my options, I wouldn't be here."

Sherlock hummed and thought for a moment. He obviously wouldn't get all the information tonight. The devil didn't seem to be in a talkative mood and he feared that pressing too hard, would get a negative reaction. Usually, he didn't think twice before pestering clients but this client wasn't really what he was dealing with on his day to day basis. The saving idea flashed across his mind, "We will need to find a disguise for you" Yes, of course. Keeping the devil as mortal at his side would give him chances to look out for accidental slip ups. He was sure everyday life might even grind the devil down to human mistakes.

"Why so?" the devil was clearly surprised. Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been this.

"If you're my client I might need information on multiple occasions. Additionally, I have the feeling that you might be able to tell if the latest victim turning up is just a junkie who overdosed or one belonging to this case. Every piece of information is crucial and I won't botch up this investigation by letting you sit around at home. Get used to it, you'll be staying in this world for a while. Do keep up."

"I already did tell you that I don't often get to talk to someone like you?" the devil asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I believe that was seven years ago" Sherlock grinned. He simply knew that the devil would stay. This gave him so much more to work off of. The bare points of the case were condensing into shapes in his mind palace, taking up residence on an empty wall. This investigation would need the utter most care. It certainly promised to be the most dangerous for him, since his soul never had been on the line before. Sherlock stapled his fingers underneath his chin, mug of tea forgotten on the armrest of his chair. The devil was sitting in front of him and the first facts were in his head. There was a short flash in Sherlock's eyes. The Game was on!


	3. Devil in Disguise

Sherlock had devilish, no pun intended, fun in creating a cover story. He knew that he needed to make it as believable as possible in order for no one to suspect what was really going on. Explaining the real nature of his new 'friend' wasn't something he was keen on doing and he suspected the sentiment was shared by the devil. Plus, he finally wanted another name referring to the other than 'the devil'. It made his thoughts always a lot more sinister than they should be. He had a case to concentrate on, or at least the beginnings of one, and there he couldn't use dramatic distractions.

They decided on introducing the devil as a friend of a friend visiting the city. It would keep Mrs. Hudson off their trail, which was one of the most important steps. Having been part of a drug cartel, the old lady noticed too much for her own good. Therefore the devil disappeared, leaving Sherlock to ponder away the night on his own. They would meet again in the morning, starting their charade and Sherlock his efforts to win back his soul.

 

The evening stretched out in front of Sherlock like a never-ending abyss. By all rights he should be deep in trying to line out the groundworks of his new case but he couldn't bring himself to do so. His body had prepared for a night of down time after a case. He knew he liked to ignore biological needs such as food and sleep. This meant, after every case he usually needed a night to restore his reserves. Now, he had to go directly from one case to another.

"I've made you a little something" Mrs. Hudson bustled through his flat, first setting down a tray with a few sandwiches and a steaming pot of tea on his coffee table. "Don't think, I don't see when you eat and when not" she smiled and started tiding a bit. With the amount of chaos dominating the flat, she mostly just picked papers up from one place and set them down somewhere else.

"Mrs. Hudson, don't you have something important to do?" Sherlock almost snapped. He was on edge ever since he had come through his front door.

"Oh dear" the old lady sighed, "Wherever has your cheery mood gone? You know, I don't think it's proper to be happy about all those horrible cases, but god help me you always look so proud after them."

"I'm not happy and definitely not proud." Sherlock pouted. Mrs. Hudson had taken on a way too motherly role in his life over the past years. Hadn’t he worked hard enough to discourage his biological parents?

"Oh Sherlock" she smiled softly at him, "Of course you are, but usually it keeps you perky a little longer. Has another of your puzzles come up then? Was it through your blog? You know, you should really get someone with a knack for storytelling to write up your cases. It's all a bit boring, if I can say so."

Sherlock shot her a put up gaze, "It's not about telling a story. It's about outlining the process of reason I use to determine..."

"Yes, yes" she waved of what would have developed into a monologue about deduction and the fine art of logic, "But you know, most of us aren't that adept."

"You mean most people are dim-witted and boring"

"Don't be so harsh", the landlady chuckled and took a few dirty dishes along on her way out, "You would do well with a friend and you'll never find someone if you scare them away."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson for you input." Sherlock gritted out, throwing himself down on the couch, face first into the cushions.

 

A friend was the last thing on Sherlock's mind. Actually, it had been a topic he never dared to breach since his initial deal with the devil seven years back. The deal which had granted him only 13 years to live. How could anyone want to invest into a personal connection when one knew their own death date looming in the background? He could never have justified pulling another person along into the misery he was living. Knowing the exact date of his demise meant that any bond to another person would be an incredibly selfish act on Sherlock's side. He had seen enough friends and family members devastated by the death of a loved one, it came with the job. Not even in his mind, he could warrant leaving someone to that level of potential devastation. It had been his choice and he would have to face it alone, or so he thought. Really, he hadn't wanted more people to be miserable because of him.

"Look at where it got you" he groaned into the well-used cushions of his leather couch. When this business was over, if he actually managed to finish it, he might have to think about the whole friends thing again. He liked to play it down, but he was feeling rather lonely. With the drugs his 'friends', speak drug buddies, had disappeared, too. At first, being alone had helped him to concentrate on what he was living for: the work. With the years ticking by he was slowly recognising the error of his ways. Now it was too late to change it. Probably. He had never felt this uncertain before.

There was nothing for it. Sherlock had to get through the night, hopefully allowing his body enough rest to start his new case in the morning. For the first time his explicit goal wasn't to catch a criminal but to get his soul back.

"I don't like high stakes" Sherlock murmured before his eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep on his couch. 

 

 

 

"Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock called, re-entering 221 after spending some time at the morgue the next morning. The morgue was his usual excuse for having a few hours out of the flat. His landlady didn't ask any questions about it since it meant, in most cases, the more dangerous experiments were conducted outside her flat. Today, he had used the excuse to present a situation in which he could have met the devil's new human persona. If he wanted to keep the devil living in his flat, he would have to introduce him to Mrs. Hudson at some point. Since he didn't go about making friends all the time, having someone presented to him in the lab of Bart's by an acquaintance seemed to be the best solution.

"What's it again?" the landlady called back, coming out of her flat as she dried her hands in her apron, "Oh, who's that?"

"Mrs. Hudson this is… John Watson", Sherlock introduced the devil, stepping a bit to the side to give her a better view, "He will be sharing the flat with me for his stay in London." He had pointedly ignored the glare received when saying the name 'John Watson'. What had struck Sherlock about the devil from the beginning were his utterly ordinary looks. It was all so plain and normal that he needed a boring, everyday name to suit the exterior. 'John' had almost immediately popped into Sherlock's mind and after trying it out a few times it felt right on his tongue. He would be living with John and solving a case for him. Yes, that sounded a lot less ominous than: My flatmate the devil.

"That's nice. Hello, dearie" Mrs. Hudson beamed and shook John's hand, "There is a second room upstairs if you'll be needing two"

"Of course we'll be needing two" John looked at her perplexed.

"It's not my place to judge, we have all sorts around here." Mrs Hudson put her hands up and smiled, "Go upstairs, I'm sure Sherlock can show you everything you need. If you have questions, just pop by downstairs."

"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson that would be all." Sherlock was a little impatiently tapping his fingers on the banister, "Come on, John." He quickly went up the remaining steps to his flat. Obviously, Mrs. Hudson had to imagine things again but Sherlock didn't really felt like calling her out on it. There were more important things on his mind than what his landlady thought he and John were doing.

 

"Is she always like that?" John asked, looking back puzzled at the door he had just closed. Apparently, the encounter had managed to impress him more than Sherlock initially calculated.

"Like what? Overbearing and cheerful? Yes" Sherlock shrugged out of his coat and scarf before plopping down in his chair. The first obstacle was cleared but now that John was in his flat, they would need to work on making it look like it. Especially, since the devil didn't have an idea of his cover story yet, except the name.

"And 'John Watson' really?" there was the exasperated question Sherlock had been looking for. He had prepared a lengthy explanation just to combat this question. The only thing which came out though was, "It fits your horrendous taste in jumpers."

"You really must be appalled by how every other human runs around for you to focus so much on what I'm wearing", John chuckled and sat himself down opposite Sherlock. It appeared that the old armchair was quickly becoming the devil's place.

"Every other human is stupid ergo by blending in with them..." Sherlock trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken but clear. He needed to distance himself from the devil or he would go mad, he knew that much.

"I'm pretending, I didn't hear that" John hummed, gently tapping his fingers against the soft upholstering of the arms, "Since you didn't feel like briefing me beforehand, I assume you either haven't thought of a cover story or where childish enough to not tell me out of spite."

Sherlock bristled at the words, "I’m not childish and of course there is a cover story. I wouldn't trust you a centimetre with making up your own. I mean you're clearly too foolish to keep your own kin under control."

"Sherlock, be careful." there was a sharp edge to the words, and Sherlock felt the tension in the room rise. Obviously, he hadn't forgotten about the real powers which slumbered underneath that unassuming exterior but he refused to be dominated by fear.

"Or what? Like you said: I'm your only shot at solving your problem. I don't think you'll dispose of me quite that unthinkingly." Sherlock smiled smugly. He was in charge. It didn't matter that the other was the devil. There were things apparently only Sherlock could do and he decided to revel in the feeling of having those tight reigns on John.

It took a moment before John unclenched his fist, resigning himself to the truth of Sherlock's words. "Go on then, who am I supposed to be?"

"You're John Watson, ex-army doctor originally from Scotland but studied in London where you met Mike Stamford. You're on a visit in London, trying to get a job, and Mike knew I had a spare bedroom. He talked to me and then introduced us. You only intend to stay until you find something for yourself, which in London takes a while." Sherlock rattled off the bare bones of what he had decided on, "Mrs. Hudson knows that Stamford is one of the few people who actually talk to me so we've got that covered. I'll probably sweep you along to a case dramatically to explain that aspect, too. Otherwise, should something 'important' arise you can leave for short amounts of time since you should be on the job hunt either way. I would still advise you to take the front door though, Mrs. Hudson knows how many people are in the house at any time and you really wouldn't want to mess up her count."

"That was… you actually thought of everything." John was obviously surprised.

"Only lies have details. You don't need to know more to get the general gist of how you should be behaving. An ex-army man can explain trust issues and temper, doctor would make you helpful on the case and as a job title stands a chance of you finding employment in the city. I don't have friends, so you are the friend of someone I trust enough to let their friend stay in my flat. It really, was extraordinary simple."

"You are quite brilliant." John chuckled, "There was only that small idea of it all those years back but, my dear, you've got quite the brain."

Sherlock's mouth, open to defend his story, snapped shut in confusion. There were always things you weren't expecting. To shake off his stun Sherlock quickly changed the topic, "We should get going. There might have been cases on some of your victims. Can you name the time of death of as many as possible?"

"I'm the devil, there is little I can't do but yes" John nodded, tilting his head slightly and waiting for an explanation.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and got up, "I help the police. With enough incentive and time frames Lestrade might let me dig through the archive. If any of your victims have been recorded, I will find them at NSY. Otherwise we will have to begin this case by waiting and I can tell none of us would appreciate that."

 

 

The ride to New Scotland Yard was quiet. Sherlock was looking out the window on his side of the cab, John on the other. The view of London's busy streets rushing past helped Sherlock to think. He needed to figure out why he suddenly had been so taken aback when John had complimented him earlier. At least, Sherlock had taken it as a compliment. John's reaction hadn't been the norm. Usually, when Sherlock implicitly insulted his way through an explanation he got a hearty 'piss off' not a 'brilliant'. Of course John needed him to solve this case but that didn't mean he had to be nice. The devil's behaviour confused Sherlock more than the case if he was honest. The case had two very distinct directions it would move in. Either they found some victims at NYS to open up the first clues or there inevitably would be the next victim to give him just that. A new victim would also mean a fresh crime scene and so much more data than any police report could cover. It was indecent but Sherlock was chasing a criminal on the payroll of the devil, he felt like nothing would be too indecent with this case.

 

"Oi, freak. What are you doing here? There is not a case I'm aware of." Sally Donovan caught Sherlock by the arm just as he wanted to brush past her, on a direct line towards Lestrade's office.

"Well, thanks to your superb policing skills, there actually is" Sherlock snarled back, quickly sweeping his look once across her body, "And do tell Anderson to give his wife my regards when she returns from her trip." He used Sally's surprise to pull himself out of her grip and continue on towards his initial destination. Of course the possibility had been there but Sherlock had hoped that he wouldn't have to face her right the first time he brought John along. Somehow, it felt important how John perceived him in his chosen work space and that wasn't a road he wanted to explore deeper.

 

"And who are you then?" after recovering from the snide remark, Sally put herself insistently in John's way, using her whole police training to appear as intimidating and authoritative as possible.

John was at loss for words for a moment, before falling into what seemed natural, "I'm his friend."

"He doesn't have friends." Sally said dismissively, "Did he follow you home then?"

"Actually, no. I'm staying at his place" John tilted his head slightly to the side, trying to stay as non-threateningly as possible.

Sally looked him up and down, as if he was sizing John up and judging his words on possible truth, "Well, a word of warning then: Keep away from him."

"Why should I?" John was puzzled. Yes, so far Sherlock had been a bit mad and probably slightly insane but at no point would he have been a danger to a human. Something about the warning, spoken form a person who obviously had to deal with Sherlock much more often, made him apprehensive.

"This", she gestured vaguely around her, "He does this because he likes it. Comes to a double homicide with a grin and has fun when a serial killer manages to snatch five victims from under his nose. He doesn't get paid, he just gets off on it. One day, we'll get to a crime scene and Sherlock Holmes will have been the one to put the body there."

There was utter conviction in her voice. It made John think back, holding it against every observation he had ever made of Sherlock. While he probably disregarded any kind of etiquette or social convention, Sherlock seemed to have a strong moral compass, with a clean cut idea of what was wrong and right. It didn't mean he would always hold himself to it, but John couldn't imagine Sherlock going out to kill someone. Not only would it be further on the other side of the line than Sherlock had ever dared to go but also, it seemed too boring. Being a killer was boring and John didn't think Sherlock would waste a second of his hard earned time doing something boring. While others had time to waste, Sherlock knew his clock was running and therefor wouldn't let himself in on silly games.

John tried on what he hoped was a friendly smile and side stepped the police officer with clear intend, "Thank you for the warning." He just wanted to follow where Sherlock had disappeared to when he thought of the other's final words. John turned around once more, looking at Sally, "By the way: Adultery is a sin. I would be careful if I were in your shoes." Oh, how he wanted to let just a bit of his true nature shimmer through but he caught himself. This matter was too important to be potentially spoiled by a little shock factor.

 

"Ah John, how nice that you could finally join me. What did Sally tell you? Is she still searching for a body?" Sherlock quipped as John entered the office, he had needed a few minutes to find.

"She was just warning me of being around you" John shrugged and looked around.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. DI Lestrade really was the only one who recognised his genius as valid aid to the work. The rest of the force was weary at best and hostile at worst. Under normal circumstances Sherlock might have tried to form stronger social bonds within the environment which provided him stimuli but with the set time limit, he hadn't bothered to. Now, he was wondering whether he would have the chance to rectify his behaviour, should he win back his soul. No, he didn't want to think down those paths yet. It would only let hope dwell within him and he needed to be cautious above everything else. The worst you could do to a man was give him hope and then take it away again, Sherlock knew that.

"She does that, ignore her", Sherlock waved the words away while looking around Lestrade's office. Little changes would always inform him about current goings-on and it was still easy to surprise the DI with information gathered through the simple task of observing.

"I just reminded her that adultery actually is a sin and gets you a nice place with us" John shrugged.

Sherlock had to snicker at the comment. He was completely taken aback himself but he couldn't help himself.

"It's not funny, don't ask how many people are actually surprised when they find out about it. It's a butt load of work." John grumbled but smirked, too.

"I don't even want to know what will be held against me" Sherlock shook his head.

"You have the once in a lifetime opportunity to get into the good books" John answered, lightly crossing his arms in front of his chest to emulate a more comfortable pose for a human.

Sherlock looked at the devil with a drawn up eyebrow and an expression which clearly said 'We both know that's not true'.

"Okay, you've got drug abuse, thieving, disregarding the lord, desecrating a church for an experiment, I don't even want to know how you managed that", John was playfully using his fingers to count the sins he was aware of from the top of his head, "breaking with your family and that little fact with your sexuality. I'm sure I forgot something."

"You really are terrible at your job" Sherlock sighed, being reminded of that list gave a little sting, "I can think of at least five more."

"Well, it's not just you I have to keep in mind." John shrugged, "And after all, you still have a chance of performing an act of contrition at the end of your life and be done with it, provided you still have your soul."

"I'm working on that" Sherlock murmured.

 

"What are you… Sherlock, who is this?“ Lestrade had just entered his office again with a document in his hand. He clearly was used to Sherlock randomly showing up in his office but not to him bringing along someone else.

"John Watson, hello." John smiled and offered a hand to the DI who took it more out of social necessity.

"He's with me." Sherlock offered as simple explanation.

"I see that" Lestrade rolled his eyes and stepped around his desk, "But who is he? You can't just bring civilians here. It's already trouble enough I let you in."

"Lestrade, we both know that without me your division's numbers would be miserable" Sherlock said dismissively "Anyway, he's with me because I think he might have information regarding my latest case."

"You're on a case?"

"Yes, detective do keep up. I don't just come over to say hello to Donovan because I like her so much. I need access to your archives. Any unexplained deaths and missing persons files dating back about one year" he shot a questioning look towards John who just nodded in confirmation of the approximate time span. "Anything you haven't found a culprit for or were to dim-witted to get the right one. Oh suicides might also be of interest, I'll know what I need when I see it."

Lestrade blinked a few times until he had caught up with the hectic stream of words, "Sherlock, I can't just let you have case files. They are confidential and what case are you on? If you need police information, it might be something you shouldn't do on your own."

Sherlock groaned. This was getting incredibly tedious. He didn't remember the last time he had to argue this long to get what he needed from Lestrade. Perhaps it was the fact that he had just brought someone unfamiliar in without notice. Or Lestrade was just surprised that he knew other people at all. Or it simply was that his wife was sleeping with the gym teacher again.

"You're perfectly aware that I can handle most cases you can't even finish with a team of 30. But this time, believe me when I say that I was intending to inform you of this case as soon as I had evidence which you would count as steadfast. In case you hadn't noticed, you usually are dubious of my methods until I can produce something that even the lousiest judge would recognise. Now if you gave me what I so kindly requested, I would try to get you just that string of connections you needed."

John couldn't say that he wasn't impressed. He had stood there in the office of a high ranking police officer, very much the unknown intruder. For all it was worth he had been the centre of attention for 20 seconds at most. Sherlock really seemed to have a heavy hand in the success of this unit. Although that couldn't be the only reason the DI was so lenient with the other. John sensed that even if Sherlock insulted his way through his life, he had unwillingly and maybe unknowingly found a friend in what should be his boss. It was somewhat sweet and John wondered how long it would take until Sherlock got the files. There was no doubt he would get them and just that little security made John be optimistic about this endeavour.

 

In the end, it had cost a few jabs more than Sherlock had planned on. Lestrade just had been particularly stubborn that day. Nevertheless, he could soon delve into a mountain of files, quickly skimming them all and dividing as he went. He was too aware of John's presence in the room. It was unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. Sherlock felt like his mind was much more on track, more focused on what was in front of him, quicker at observing the important and making a decision. John's simple, quiet presence worked like a magnifying glass. With a shudder Sherlock realised this feeling was close to what cocaine had brought him, at least in the beginning. He quickly pushed the thought aside.

"I need to know which of these fit within the time frames" Sherlock murmured after the pile to his right had grown by a few beige folders, "Make a pile for all that were cheated and just put the other's aside, we don't need them." Without looking up he continued his work, pre-selecting every victim which might fit the bill. He didn't want to go in too deep just yet. Theorising before he had all the facts would be deadly in this case. Better to get confirmation on the victims and then take it from there.

"You know I could have helped you before" John pointed out as he plucked up the pile Sherlock had referred to. He actually had wondered what he was still doing, sitting around for an hour without Sherlock saying a single word, somewhat feeling superfluous and ignored. That had been something new.

"I work best alone. You are just needed to confirm the actual pool of victims. I could painstakingly figure it out myself but you want it to be done quickly. I tell you this is the quickest way." Sherlock just explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

John was surprised at what those words meant, "You really believe, you're better alone?" He actually felt his mimic contorting into an expression of disbelieve.

"Alone is what I have. Alone is what protects me" it came so blandly, John almost took it as a joke until he saw that Sherlock was just working, not smiling, not smirking, not giving any indication that it had been meant as a joke.

"That is… strangely sad. Do you realise that?"

Sherlock's voice suddenly was razor sharp, "I never thought the devil was one for sentimentalities"

John swallowed down any potential commentary. He might not have been human but he could tell when he was close to pouring salt into a wound. Sherlock's words initially had just been enough out of place for him to notice it but pushing it further wouldn't yield anything right now. He should rather concentrate on the case. The faster this was done, the faster he could turn his back again and pretend it never happened.

 

"Lestrade, I have your case." Sherlock declared, swooping into the DI's office about two hours later and throwing down four case files on the desk.

"You mean the not existing one under which's pretence I let you look through old files?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow, slightly annoyed at being interrupted.

Sherlock took a deep breath, he knew the connections he had found were nearly too accidental or just brought on by circumstances that he would have to be particularly convincing. Of course he could just go from what he had found out about previous victims but that would be tedious. The process not being helped by being denied entry to the next murders when they came along. Normally, he would take it as a challenge working against the Yard but not in this instance. There was too much on the line and while he couldn't disclose his true intends to Lestrade, he would need all the help he could get. Even if it meant working together with the slow mob of people the DI called his team. Although they were slow and moronic most the times, they provided useful information or at least took over the legwork.

"Just give this a chance and believe me when the next victim turns up on your doorstep" Sherlock insisted, pushing the files a little further over the table.

John observed how the DI hesitated a moment but then took the files, pulling them all open to look at what Sherlock had brought. The man really trusted the other. John himself had felt like the victims had been selected utterly at random. It miffed him a bit that he couldn't figure this out and needed help. As it seemed though, he really had come to the right person. Sherlock seemed to have his hands in all the right pots and John felt almost glad, he might be able to grant him a little more time doing what he was clearly good at.

 

"And you want me to believe that the socialite daughter, two homeless man one in his twenties the other in his fifties and a middle aged broker have something in common and were actually murdered?" Lestrade sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair, "Somehow I feel you've gone utterly mad now."

"Lestrade, when was the last time I saw a connection where none was?" Sherlock asked, hands now pressed to the top of the detective’s desk. He needed the other to believe him. "I don't always see everything but I never see something where there is nothing."

Lestrade contemplated the words for a moment before he put down the file he was holding, "Okay, you won. I'll indulge you but only because of the Peterson case that was bloody brilliant. Next victim like this turns up, I'll give you a call but I won't hold it open indefinitely."

A small smile hushed over Sherlock's lips. That was all he needed. Time was still something he could bargain for but he had his way in. "I'll see you then, detective." He smirked and turned around ready to leave the office.

"And Sherlock?" Lestrade called after him, making him stop in the doorway, "Next time you bring a pet, tell us before."

"Calling people names gets you a bad standing with the devil." Sherlock retorted, not even sparing a look for John.

"The devil can bite me and either way he'll have a field day with you first, so I'm pretty safe in line behind you."  Lestrade just shrugged and put Sherlock's files all on a pile towards the side of his desk.

"I wouldn't feel that safe, detective"

Lestrade laughed, "What, is he listening in?"

"He might be closer than you think." Sherlock said slightly ominous but left it at that "Good day inspector. Do call when something crops up"

"As if you didn't smell blood and came running quicker than the hounds of hell on judgement day."

Sherlock ignored the last comment and just left the office. Finally, he had his first clues. They had been poorly written up but this was better than nothing at least he wouldn't have to start right from scratch with the next victim. There was a familiar excitement running through his body. The scene was laid out. All was waiting for the next move. The game was on.


	4. The Game is On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, this is the last chapter of Act 1. I'll update again when all four chapters of Act 2 are written. See you then :) [btw thank you all for reading and to all who left feedback]

"What kind of mess is this?" John asked starring disbelievingly at the contents of the fridge. After a week of living like a human being in Sherlock's flat, he should be used to this. The first night he had found dissected mice on the kitchen table. The next day came with a loaded, historical revolver and four more holes in the wall. On day three, five human thumbs appeared in a bag in the vegetable crisper of the fridge. John didn't want to be judging, although he supposed that technically was his job. After all he didn't have a sensitive stomach, but he started to wonder how Sherlock could stay healthy within these living conditions. There were hazardous things strewn around the flat with apparently no concern. Day four started with Sherlock sitting behind the microscope and a foul smelling solution bubbling away on the stove. Day five and six saw experiments with the thumbs from day three. Now, there was a whole severed human head staring at John. He had dealt with a lot of things in his days, he was the devil after all but Sherlock's flat was a whole other kind of hell.

"A human head" Sherlock called back, sitting crouched on his armchair, staring at notes laid out around it like a fan "You should be familiar with those."

"Yes, but usually they come with a body and don't coagulate blood on a dining table" John quickly shut the door again. Hoping that the less he saw of it, the better he could pretend this was all normal.

"Usual is boring. Come on you're the devil, I thought at least you wouldn’t be squeamish", Sherlock shrugged, "Apparently I've been wrong. So many surprises the devil holds, you know."

"Don't patronise me" John sighed and put the kettle on. Somehow he had filled that particular spot in Sherlock's life, making tea constantly. If anyone got wind of that, he would have to work really hard to get his reputation back up to speed. "Have you had any breakfast?"

"No and I don't know why you care. You don't need it and neither do I" Sherlock waved his hand about. He was trying to get more information on the parameters of this case but it was difficult. No one had written research papers about daemon deals or conducted a study with a respectable sample size. All you could find were nutcases on the internet who said they had it all figured out, including how the government was lying about lizard people being in charge.

"The last time I checked you were human" John pointed out, leaning against the kitchen counter. It had taken him a bit but the more time he spent in his human form, the easier it was to behave naturally in it. "And they require food to remain within the realm of the living."

"Food is boring" Sherlock groaned, plucking up one sheet and scrawling a few more notes on it. The groundworks of this case would be how daemon deals could be abused. To figure out that part, he first needed to find out under which parameters and rules they actually ran. John keeping the information like a trade secret didn't help him at all. He had the prime source, the devil, sitting right under his nose but still he was confined to better guesswork. Sherlock was frustrated and the thumbs hadn't been nearly as interesting as initially promised.

"As long as it doesn't come out of Mrs. Hudson's oven and has at least a cup of sugar in it, I'm assuming" John grinned. Although most surprises about how Sherlock lived were firmly in the category of biohazardous and 'I'm surprised you didn't manage to come downstairs quicker than your 13 years', others were more innocent. For example John had found out that Sherlock had a ridiculous sweet tooth and while he would pick at most foods, anything sweet would be eaten without complaint.

Sherlock just grumbled.

"You know if anyone finds out what I'm doing here to clean up their mess, I never get my authority back in working condition." John chuckled and brewed tea. Although he really didn't need sustenance, he had found out that tea was something he actually enjoyed. Even if it was just to pass the time of which he had way too much at night, since it wasn't acceptable to be out every night. Mrs. Hudson really had a keen eye and ear.

"You're the devil, I'm sure you can do something so scary everyone will fall back in line easily." Sherlock waved away his concern. It was a ridiculous mess but here he was in his flat and the devil was preparing him tea. It normalised their situation to the extend where Sherlock didn't know if he was comfortable with it. After all, they still had an askew power differential going on.

"Drink this" Sherlock got a mug thrust into his hands, "And I'm going to order you some food. I don't care what corpses you keep in your fridge, but you will eat. After this business is done you can go back to not caring about your body but currently I need that thing healthy and working."

"It's working just fine."

"Yeah, how long did you think that was the case before you sold your soul when you realised it was a mess?" John groaned "Don't answer that. You ignore yourself too much."

"And I suppose, the devil of all people wants to teach me how to prolong my existence. I'm sorry if I feel like you're taking the piss."

 

In a huff, Sherlock turned back to his research, tuning out whatever else John was about to say. He didn't need a nanny but apparently he had gotten one for free when he had ordered the devil to stay. Initially, he thought the tedium of existence would grind the devil down, make him give up information easier but as it turned out, the devil was absolutely fine with boredom. Sherlock on the other hand was not. The first two days after turning Lestrade's archives upside down, he had eagerly waited for the next victim to appear. Whenever he got on a case that usually was how things went but then, this killer didn't even know the police was onto him, yet. He had gravely underestimated the time he might have to waste until another person was snatched. John on the other hand had fallen easily into place as a human. It had taken him a day or two to figure out the minor details but Sherlock had to admit, he was surprised at how comfortable John seemed. He just blended into the background perfectly, Mrs. Hudson having taken an immediate liking to him. Sherlock wanted to ridicule the average looks and behaviour but it was so much more effective than expected. The devil didn't like to draw attention to himself and that was what he managed, perfectly so. A being more powerful than humans could comprehend was wandering between them, buying tea at Tesco’s, ordering take-out and smiling softly at things he found amusing. Sherlock couldn't wrap his head around it but somehow that disparity of what he knew to be true and what you could see, made his situation much more interesting. He knew he had to focus on the case but he couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath some decisions the devil made. After all, he was sure, the other could have come in whatever form imaginable.

 

"This would be easier to understand if you gave me something" Sherlock groaned and forced his mind to get back on track. It would be important to have as much background knowledge as possible before the next corpse turned up. He couldn't afford to lose himself in minor tasks, even if they captured his interest a bit more effectively.

"What? I don't see how I could be of any help since you told me so clearly that you work best alone." John said, side stepping Sherlock's notes. They were astonishingly detailed and structured for a topic which you couldn't research in a conventional way.

"Please, don't be so obtuse." Sherlock sighed "You know it is vital to this case that I know as much as possible. The problem is that so far you, as the most trusted source of information, have given me nothing. I can't help but think, you actually don't want me to succeed with this case."

"You know that is not true" John insisted.

"Then, why won't you answer my questions?"

"Because I cannot share that information with a human", John said with all the patients he could muster after having been at the other end of this argument a few times already. He could somewhat understand Sherlock's chagrin but there were rules mortals had to play by.

"That point would be more powerful if you hadn't already involved me in non-human business" Sherlock reminded him, desperate to get information "You cannot expect me to make connections when I don't even know if I have interpreted your business correctly."

"You're on the same page as our culprit then. Neither of you knows more than the other. Since it hasn't stopped him, I don't see why it should be a problem for you." John reminded the detective. It was a conversation, he wished they would stop having.

"Don't you recognise that it would be advantageous for me to know more in this instance?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "Besides, how do you know that they haven’t also tricked one of your henchmen into giving them details? Apparently they has them under better control than you."

"Sherlock, don't..." John warned. He didn't lose his temper easily, whatever might be said. This affair had just cost him too many nerves and too much embarrassment already.

"What?" Sherlock rolled his head from side to side, working the kinks out that had formed from starring down for so long "You admitted just a few days ago that your lack of control partly caused your problem. Now, don't shush me for using it as an integral part to this case. How can you know that none of your daemons went rouge on a particularly tempting deal?"

"Because they can't" John gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Oh, now you're telling me there are also boundaries to life as a daemon you never thought to mention before? My, my how can I even trust a thing you say?" Sherlock put his hands under his chin, gently thrumming his fingertips together. He had the devil all worked up, now he just needed to figure out what would happen if he crossed the line.

"I haven't lied to you."

"Perhaps not directly but you withhold information" Sherlock pointed out "You tell me you want to hire me for a case. I take it. You tell me it has to do with daemon deals gone awry. I'm curious. I want to know about daemon deals. You tell me to go off and find information on my own. I want to know if the information I got was correct. You say, you cannot tell me. Seeing a pattern emerge? You let me go on a wild goose chase, knowing full-well that those are not human parameters and the case I took claimed to be just human. You are dangerously close to breaking the deal, I am not. Therefore, tell me what I need to know!"

"Sherlock Holmes" the air around John started to glimmer as if the barely contained power was threatening to push past the edges of the ordinary form it was contained in, "I cannot answer your questions. Do not ask me again." It was the first time Sherlock got a glimpse of who he really had let into his life. The devils voice boomed with more authority than ever before. He was still sitting in the old armchair but now it seemed more like a throne than a piece of Sherlock's furniture. Power was radiating from every cell and Sherlock felt himself fall silent in awe. It was one thing to theoretically know something but another to encounter it. He couldn't say that he felt safer but he definitely felt more determined now. So much might in one being and still, his help was needed. He grinned, feeling slightly light-headed. Of course he wouldn't have gained any substantial information but he was intelligent enough himself. It was time to run down their culprit the old-fashioned way.

 

 

"John, down, now" Sherlock called with glee in his voice. It was half past seven in the morning and he already was half-way dressed.

"Already here" John said calmly, appearing behind Sherlock his arms crossed and face set in a put-up expression.

"So this is ours then?" Sherlock grinned. Lestrade had only given him the call because he had promised. That much had been clear from the abundant lack of interest and desperation in his voice. Sherlock had already assumed they would go to at least two non-related crime scenes before one cropped up which he could actually use. John's expression and quick appearance though had him in anticipation. The victim would give him the first push in the right direction. He loved playing the game. Even more so when the opponent finally made a move.

John just nodded, sensing that Sherlock would see words as just superfluous chatter. Dealing with another stolen soul case was annoying but at least this time he knew that they could be closer to getting rid of this mess than ever before. It shouldn't bug him that Sherlock seemed gleeful about the death of a person. After all, everyone was just human and they would get their proper judgement at the end. Just, Sherlock seeming so determined to walk down the lane of 'not good' made him actually feel something. This man was incredibly brilliant and more cunning than most. He was going all out on a case which might be impossible to solve, especially with the lack of information. John just silently followed him down the stairs and into a cab. Sherlock was a good man, even if he was currently walking with a spring in his step and a smile on his face because someone had died. John sighed slightly, he would blame himself for the rest of eternity if Sherlock didn't solve the case.

 

"Lestrade, get Anderson off the scene. I need whatever information there is and not the hairs of Sally's cat distorting everything." Sherlock called, not having set more than two steps out of the cab, "How long is your wife away for? Oh, no you're getting cockier. Really, Anderson don't underestimate her. Although, she was apparently stupid enough to marry you, she's closer on your tail than you think." Before the technician could even think of an answer, Sherlock had brushed past him towards the corpse. Crouching down next to it when Lestrade finally caught up with him.

"Hey, I let you do this but that doesn't mean you can insult my team" Lestrade sighed, only saying it because he felt like he needed to, to keep the team's moral up, not because he thought one day Sherlock might listen to him at last.

"I can and I will as long as they are imbeciles. When they start using their brains instead of just wasting Oxygen, I will reconsider my behaviour" Sherlock hummed, looking at the victims clothes.

Lestrade groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, "Go on then. You have five minutes and I see you've brought your new friend along again."

"He is helpful", Sherlock shrugged and lifted the coat of the corpse a bit. She was lying face down.

"Well, don't let him touch anything" Lestrade just said resigned.

"I'll do my best to pretend I'm not here" John said with a light smile. Just because he had Sherlock on his side, didn't mean everyone else was so automatically. Most humans had enough self-preservation instinct to pick up on at least a few cues when a truly evil being was near them. John really couldn't hold the DI's dislike against him but he also didn't have to aggravate it further.

"Just know that whatever you do, falls directly back on him." Lestrade said and then quickly made himself busy somewhere else on the crime scene.

 

"You know, he's better than you think. He has a strong instinct but a good control on his biases." John hummed, stepping closer to where Sherlock was hovering over the corpse, "His gut says there is something wrong but his mind wants objective proof first before he decides. Really, he managed to find the right job."

"If he were a bit more observant, he would have cleared the ranks a lot quicker" Sherlock just shrugged, having to agree with John. Lestrade was one of the smartest detectives the Yard had and not only because he let him in on cases.

"Well, not everyone is about career, I suppose" John shrugged then looked at the victim, "That seems about right. Was very confused about the whole after-life thing."

"Of course she would be" Sherlock hummed "Not religious. Probably has given her a right shock. Did she remember selling her soul or is that classified information?"

"No it isn't and no she didn't" John shook his head, "One of the reasons this business is so messy. The daemons say the one, the victim another thing."

"Just means, they are drugged for the deals themselves. Probably come to the inner city on some form of mock business. Either, they are set up in a hotel room where the drug is administered or go to a meeting. Then the deal is made and when they wake up, the effects having worn off, they don't remember a thing. The pretend reason is then dropped immediately or they get some kind of temporary reimbursement."

"You got that from looking at her for not even a minute?" John asked surprised. Within the year, they had been dealing with this problem, they hadn't gotten past the point of 'Somehow manipulated to sell their souls for someone else’s gain and then don't remember it’.

"Hardly. She just confirmed a theory I had built after looking back through the other four files. They were all people with either monetary problems or people who were extremely naive when it came to investment opportunities." Sherlock shrugged, continuing to look through the pockets of the victim's clothes for any clue they might have on them, "She's in her early thirties. Make of clothes suggests someone who cares about their appearance, every item is by a high-end brand. Age of clothes suggests, she isn't someone with that much money to spare on a regular basis. The coat is nearly two years old and the shoes are from last season, probably bought in a warehouse sale. Her hair looks nice enough but is kept in a practical style which can be maintained by anyone. Therefore eliminating the need for an expensive hairstylist every eight weeks. Still, she looks decent enough. She colour coordinates her outfit with the jewellery she wears. This points towards someone wanting to appear professional. The train ticket in her pocket suggests, she came into the city yesterday around late afternoon. No case with her means she has her clothes in a hotel room. She probably owns a small business and has lately fallen on hard times. Someone made her an offering which she couldn't refuse. She was too practical to question a deal which would give her a financial cushion, I mean look at her nails. She came to the city and was set up in a hotel room by our culprit. Then she either got a welcome drink with the drug in it or went to a meeting where she would undoubtedly have had at least a glass of water. Humans are surprisingly easy to drug via the things they eat or drink. No one really bothers to look too closely or question a slightly off taste too deeply. Then… oh look at this." Sherlock abruptly stopped his lightning quick explanations to grin and pull out a business card from one of the coat pockets. It was white, thick cardstock with an embossed black print on it. There weren't a lot of information on it, just a telephone number on the one side and an address on the other.

"Well an address will help us, let's go" John said when he saw the card, already wanting to turn.

"You want to go to this address? Really, do you believe them to be this thick?" Sherlock chuckled and quickly photographed both sides of the card, "If it was only this, then you wouldn't have come to me. You can't tell me that you haven't already found multiple of these cards. I imagine they change the address to whatever location they see fitting for the deal and then discard it again. The telephone number on the other hand could be more of a lead. We'll just have to try it out." Sherlock shrugged and stood up. He got his own mobile phone out of his coat and flicked a switch before typing in the number.

"What are you doing?" John asked curiously and stepped closer.

"Texting" Sherlock hummed, stopping for only an instant before his fingers flew over the keyboard.

"You're texting the murderer?" John looked incredulous.

"I could call him but then he'd know it wasn't her." Sherlock smirked and sent the message. It was a long shot, granted, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps their criminal was ready for some publicity.

"So, you just decided to text him from a number he can research without problem and be linked to your blog?"

"Two SIM cards" Sherlock just answered "You never know when you might need a number no one has."

"That's actually… thorough."

"I'm never anything else." Sherlock smiled and turned around to look for Lestrade. The card he would have to hand over but not the information what he had done with it since he had found it. Sherlock thrived on this, being a step or three ahead of everyone else.

 

"Sherlock" John called, still standing next to the corpse, trying to process what he had just witnessed, "What makes you think they'll answer?"

"Attention and the possibility to show off?" Sherlock shrugged and smiled, "They tricked you. I would want praise for that, too."

John chuckled and shook his head. It was a very far flung idea but since he put Sherlock on the case, the other had taken the strands and weaved them to a coherent whole further than anyone. It had taken him a week to get closer to an answer than anyone before. John looked at how animated Sherlock spoke to the DI and wondered if it was always like this. Sherlock swooping in like an unearthly hero and using the most minimalists clues to solve whatever problem you put in front of him. John was glad that all these years back, he had taken the call. It had just been to get out a bit and have a laugh. Turned out he met someone with an incredibly rare talent and the determination to stand up to him. Perhaps this case wouldn't just be annoying. Seeing Sherlock work might be the most fun he had had in eons. Now he wanted to see if the little vermin who had been bugging him would have just as much fun. He was the devil, he was allowed to be petty and vengeful.

 

\---- End of Act 1 ----


	5. Needs must when the Devil drives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some explaining to do. Apparently, I can’t count correctly (good omen for becoming a Maths teacher…). It should have been the Exposition plus an additional 4 chapters in the 1st Act. Like you noticed, it were only 4 chapters including the Exposition. Well, to get myself back on track I decided to keep my 4 chapters per Act policy which means this Act will have 4 chapters and the one which I managed to ignore by my counting error will be an extra chapter which will be released between Act 2 and 3, whenever I finished writing it. This makes so much more sense than pushing Act 2 to be 5 chapters long because then you probably wouldn’t have gotten anything for at least the next month. Plus, I know that chapter will be quite the turn around so it actually fits having it as a solitary upload. Enough explaining now, I hope you enjoy the next instalment of this weird idea (although it’s getting heavy on plot and I’m already freaking out again because I’m not the best at handling plot).

\---- Act 2 ----

"Sherlock, breakfast" John sighed, nudging the plate closer to the detective, who was writing in a slim notebook. It had been just about a fortnight since the woman, Mary Waterman, had been found dead and robbed of her soul. That particular detail didn't make an appearance in the official police report but it didn't alter the truth. After the initial turmoil had died down, John was effectively stuck with Sherlock. Stuck meaning, living a normal, boring human life. With nothing more to do than the crossword and getting acquainted with his future clients via trash TV, John had started to notice patterns in Sherlock's self-care routine, mainly that there wasn't any routine. Sherlock would crash for a maximum of two hours of sleep anywhere his body currently sat or lay. He regularly went at least 36 hours without shutting his eyes or taking a rest of any sort. It had John googling the effects of sleep deprivation on humans at some point. Tea would be drunk if offered but there seemed to be no effort on Sherlock's side to stay hydrated. Food was even worse. Yes, baked goods would go down without question but neither breakfast, lunch nor dinner were steadily kept times for Sherlock. John had managed watching him go for two days without once having a bite to eat before he had cracked the first time. He felt a bit like a parent, keeping constant tabs on an unruly child.

"I ate yesterday" Sherlock simply commented, not averting his gaze.

"Yes, half a piece of toast. That's why you're going to have something now" John insisted, nudging the other's arm with the plate.

"I don't eat on a case. Digestion slows me down" Sherlock hummed, thumbing through the pages of his notebook as if he was looking back through his scrawl for an earlier recorded information.

John didn't really take it seriously and just answered, "No, not good enough of an excuse." Sherlock couldn't really think that. John had met an extraordinarily clever guy. He refused to believe that Sherlock would ignore such basic rules completely.

Sherlock just groaned and grabbed another of the slim notebooks "You shouldn't even care." It was clear, they were having a conversation but John still felt ignored. There was no denying the initial interest of a new situation, letting him entertain Sherlock's mood for just a little longer. Still, he wasn't used to being ignored and he didn't want to make a habit of it either. Certain expectations came with his job and a moody detective wouldn't make a difference.

"Yes, I should." he said insistently, leaning back again, "I'm somewhat dependent on you sorting out this bloody mess." In the beginning, he had had his grudges with admitting it but by now, John was sure that if Sherlock didn't solve this, he could only send the Apocalypse. Even to him that slowly seemed like a somewhat too drastic action. If actually caring, another new experience Sherlock seemed to be responsible for, had to factor into that equation, John wasn't sure.

"I already said, I can do so better without being slowed down." the stress lay on the word 'better' and John thought he started to catch on to the real reasons here. Sherlock probably had laid out his own reasons, which didn't mean they were actually good ones. Nevertheless, John needed Sherlock and he needed him alive. "Come off it. Denying your brain sustenance does nothing but kill you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and answered somewhat petulantly "I functioned perfectly well before you started interfering."

"I only interfered because you asked me to" John pointed out, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively.

"Shut up" Sherlock banged his fists on the table and strode over to the living room, leaving John startled at the kitchen table. The detective really was a marvel. First, he had the audacity to summon the devil for a simple crossroad deal. Then he effectively managed to trap him in a human body with the most boring backstory possible. Now, he even started screaming at him, apparently sparing no thought for the being he actually had invited into his flat.

"Hey, you were the one who managed to ignore his needs until he was on death's door. Not my fault for helping." John tried to stay calm. It had taken him a few centuries to get his anger management under control, there was no need breaking the streak but he really didn't enjoy not being the most powerful in the room.

"Yes, great helping." Sherlock snorted, throwing over a stack of loose pages and papers, "13 years. I really see your generosity there."

"It's about that?" John asked incredulously. It seemed way too simple to solve their problem. Obviously, you'd be mad when you only got a specific time frame instead of 'however long you may live' but that was how it went. Sherlock couldn't have been spending the past seven years eating and sleeping just the bare minimum, only to maximise his time for work, could he? "Well, if it gets you eating, I swear that any time you spend eating on this case will be added on top of your 13 years should you fail to solve it. Otherwise, it shouldn't bother you because the limit won't be in place anymore." Yes, Sherlock would probably find a way to abuse the system but John didn't care at the moment. However long this would take, it would only add a maximum of a few days and he really could suffer that. It still took a moment for Sherlock to react, standing there in the middle of the living room, frustration still clearly emanating from his body.

In the end, Sherlock grudgedly took one slice of toast from the plate and began chewing it. John counted it as a success.

 

Sherlock startled when his mobile pinged insistently at around 3 am a few days later. He had dozed off while he was thinking on the couch. This was happening more and more since John was very close to forcing him to eat. Sherlock wasn't sure how to handle the new development. When the case had started, eons ago it seemed, he had put up a barrier, wanting to see the devil as all the evil in his life. After all, he was the reason, his life hadn't really been a life anymore. It was his right to push him into that particular corner, wasn't it? He didn't want to think about it any further but the thought kept nudging him consistently. As awkward as it sounded, the devil, John, had become somewhat of a dependable companion in Sherlock’s life. That development was dangerous beyond belief but Sherlock didn’t feel inclined to halt it just yet.

With a shake of his head he grappled for his phone. There were three missed messages from Lestrade. He didn't even bother checking the content, but immediately scampered up the stairs to the spare room. "John?“ he barged through the door and stopped dead in his tracks. The room was empty, no trace of the devil. It hadn't been something Sherlock had considered before that when he needed him, John might actually have something important to manage. After all he still was the devil and not just a simple person without responsibilities. Sherlock chewed on his lip for a while, standing there in the empty room. There was an actual twang in his chest with the gaping emptiness he faced. He slowly backed out of the room again, descending the stairs a bit confused. He needed to go to the crime scene, he couldn't wait for the devil to reappear. Sherlock tried to remind himself of that. Whatever John did, it had to be important and Sherlock's work was important, too. After all, he tried to regain his soul, he needed to concentrate on what he had to do. It didn’t set him up for a good mood, though.

Like on auto-pilot he navigated his way to the address Lestrade had texted him. There was no way to know for sure this belonged to their case, at least not until John would give the confirmation. Part of Sherlock hated it, he wanted to prove that he could do this without having some divine intervention all the time. After all, he had enough to go on, didn't he?

"Well, that took a while" Lestrade greeted him with a drawn up eyebrow "Trouble in paradise?"

"What?" Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to fit Lestrade's words together to a logical expression. The cab ride had made him slightly antsy.

"John's not here" the DI pointed out, "I'm just saying. You were practically attached to each other lately."

Sherlock drew his eyebrows together in confusing and shook his head as if to force observations into their right spot "I'm… he's just my flatmate"

"Yeah, sure." Lestrade snorted with a grin.

"I'm sorry, can we just?" Sherlock pointed at the house behind the detective, slightly confused but certain something had just gone over his head.

"Oh, yes sure" Lestrade nodded and turned around quickly so Sherlock could follow him inside. "He was found by housekeeping who heard sounds from a flat that is vacant at the moment. When they came in to check, he was already dead. They called immediately. Since they were showing the flat to possible tenants until 6 pm yesterday evening, it narrows time of death down to approximately the last nine hours."

"Any more information available already?" Sherlock asked, trying to get his brain back on track for the case again. Not having John trail behind him, threw him off more than it should have. He had been working alone for years and after all the other was the devil.

"Not really" Lestrade shook his head "I hoped you could tell us more. These are coming too quickly now. Even we can't ignore it anymore."

"Well, it only took you five victims. I would say that is a new record even for you." Sherlock tried out snarky remarks. Something had to still work how it used to.

"Well thanks for that. Just do your thing and please don't harass the team too much", Lestrade sighed.

"I only do what they ask for" Sherlock hummed and brushed past Lestrade into the flat. It practically screamed 'up to rent' at him. Nothing had been left out which made the dead body in the middle of the living room a little more strange. Usually, he had at least some clues from the environment to go off of. This was again just the corpse. Slowly, it was getting annoying. Couldn't their culprit take at least one misstep? He hadn't even answered to Sherlock's text after the last one. By now, Sherlock was fed up with finding out who did this. Perhaps he just needed to take a different approaches on this one.

"Sorry, I needed to sort some things out."

Sherlock jumped at the sound of John's voice. He nearly lost his balance, where he was crouched next to the corpse.

"Well, I hope they were worth it", he said, setting his jaw firmly.

"There is nothing I can do with this problem" John sighed, rubbing a hand along his forehead "After all, they don't just go away when they die. It's somewhat more work and I can't just push it away."

Sherlock paused for a moment. He had been so fixated on his case, the corpse in front of him that he had forgotten with every victim he found, more work awaited the devil. Still, a part of him was miffed that the devil's powers apparently didn't let him take care of it quickly.

"Still, I could have been wasting my time here" Sherlock said, looking the victim over one last time. Another middle-aged man, suit was old and raw around the seams. It suggested hard times, probably used to spending more money than he currently had. Nothing Sherlock hadn't already picked up on with the last victims. Whoever was responsible for this cherry picked the next dead. They needed to be needy enough to get in on these deals. Even if the daemon didn't come into play until after they'd been drugged. No one in their right mind and with enough security would even consider whatever was offered. All victims had fallen on hard times, financially, which made it impossible to predict who was going to be next. Then, he would need to concentrate on sussing out the bigger plan and go after their criminal directly, not caring about who was next. So, why would someone risk the devil's wrath in a twisted scheme like this?

"I'm sure you would have known if you were wasting your time" John chuckled, watching Sherlock who abruptly stood up again.

"Yes, but that is not the point. You are needed on this case which means your job is to stay here and not jump off on a whim." Sherlock had to admit, he was a bit testy at the moment.

"My job is to stay here? Well, thank you very much." John snorted, "I've been doing it wrong all these centuries then. Great, that you've finally come along to give me a primer."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to leave, finding it the best course of action to ignore the devil for now. "Lestrade, I've got everything. Do with him what you need."

"Anything you can tell me?" Lestrade asked hopeful, then startled as John appeared behind him, "Jesus, where did you come from? I didn't see you earlier."

"Just arrived" John smiled forced, "You were busy so I just went ahead."

"You can't just go rampage on a crime scene. Sherlock I told you last time..."

"Come off it Lestrade" Sherlock groaned, obviously impatient to get going "Whatever it is. I'm too useful for you. If John got through without you noticing, then it's your fault. So, go scream at your officers but I'm leaving now."

The DI grumbled something inaudible before calling after them "Woe betide you if you don't call."

"As soon as I know something", Sherlock let himself fall into a cab. There was nothing more to do for him here.

 

"Caught yourself again?" John asked after a very tense cab ride to Baker Street.

"I have no idea what you're talking about" Sherlock said, handing the driver some money before he strode towards the front door. He needed to get into the flat, he needed his wall, his sounding board. There were too many information and possible strings crowding his head. By now, it was well past the point of him being able to organise it all inside his mind palace.

"Oh, what's up with you two then?" Mrs. Hudson asked when she opened the door of her flat. Peaking at the trouble in her hallway.

"Another case" John offered calmly. The old landlady hadn't been put off by him like so many other people. She had lived through a rough time herself and John was sure by now she couldn't be shocked by anything anymore. He likely could outright tell her who he was and she would just smile, pat his back and offer tea. It was refreshing and even he, the devil, couldn't help but like her.

"He looks like he's in a strop", Mrs. Hudson looked after where Sherlock had jumped up the stairs.

"Perhaps the case is not going like he wants it. Who knows?"

The landlady sighed "These cases will be the death of him at some point. Either he'll stress out so much that he'll drop dead or one of those criminals will get him."

"I'm sure he's careful." John offered. It probably was a weak support.

"You should have seen him before you came, though" she shook her head, "I was sure that he'd work himself into the ground for the first two years. I think he reviewed the whole of the Yard's archive. After you came here, he suddenly was a bit happier again. You know, not completely but somewhat more human."

John thought for a moment then murmured "I'm sure he was better before I came."

"No, don't say that." Mrs. Hudson gently punched his side "He was half-dead before you moved in. He's still a bit of a mess but he's getting there, believe me."

"You give me too much credit."

"I never do something as dumb as that. Want to go after him? Otherwise I can make you a nice cup of tea and we wait for him to calm down a bit" she smiled.

John looked at the stairs, "I think I take a tea."

It was about two hours until John made his way upstairs. Sherlock had used the time to plaster the wall above the couch with snippets of writing and strings of yarn. It was all pinned in an orderly web, well orderly to the one who saw the logic behind it.

"And that helps you find our guy?" John asked, slightly doubtful.

"No" Sherlock just shook his head but continued staring at the wall.

John paused for a moment, then look at the other confused "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because I feel like wasting time. No, because I need to know why he does what he does. Why does he get all these people to make deals for him? What does he get from it? Shouldn't he have everything he needs by now? There were two victims in short succession. Doesn't a man have all he needs by now? There is something bigger behind this." Sherlock snapped, gnawing at his lips. He was still missing a vital piece.

"Why? What does it matter?" John asked, eyebrows knit together "We only need to find him. Your job is to find him. I don't need an explanation, I'm not the police."

"It's not how it works." Sherlock growled "I figure out the reason, I can figure out where he is, most likely."

"No" John said decidedly, arms crossed in front of his chest, "This is not to entertain you. I gave you a job, do it."

"Yes, you gave me a job. My job is to find your culprit, nowhere did you mention how I was to go about it. These are my methods. Yours have already proven to not be successful. Let me do my job." Sherlock bit his teeth together. His skin had gotten thinner with every minute the devil had been downstairs with Mrs. Hudson and he had been up here, trying to work through a myriad of clues.

"I won't if it costs me time, I do not have." the devil hit back.

"You have all the time in the world. You're the devil" Sherlock screamed, furiously. It was the last drop he needed to let his temper run free, “I don't have any"

"Not my fault."

"This is all your fault.“ Sherlock kicked at the table, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up his leg almost immediately.

"Who of us was useless enough to pump himself full of drugs?" John was aware that his blows were getting low. This case though had cost him too much time and too many nerves already.

Sherlock laughed bitterly, "You have no idea what I went through."

"Don't expect pity."

"Never, but humility in the face of your own incompetence." Sherlock spit out. They had long crossed the line of careful.

John needed a moment to digest Sherlock's words. Then he needed another moment to reign himself in and only let his voice go grave. He still could not afford to do any worse, he needed to stay in control. ”You don't deserve to solve this case."

"Too late, you signed the contract and you know what will happen if you back out." Sherlock felt the mad glimmer in his eyes. This fight just showed how desperate the devil was. Sherlock had just spectacularly lost every little piece of decorum and he was still alive. He had the upper hand. It wasn't fun at the moment but he had the devil in a corner. He should never have gotten so attached to having the devil there as a companion instead of a boss. He needed to solve this case and he need to do it his way. The stakes were too high.


	6. The Devil looks after his Own

To say the air between them was frosty would have been an understatement. John had left, being off to Sherlock knew not where. Sherlock stayed in the living room, stunned by the happenings. It took him another half an hour before he had calmed down sufficiently to even think about going back to work. Their fight had riled him up enough for his head to burn down every attempt at concentration to the roots. Sherlock was absolutely shattered by it. Never had anything had this effect on him. He spoke his mind, he got out what he felt was right and still just now, he felt awful. Alone, alone was what protected him. All the time he had spent running after criminals, he had done it alone. Now, here he was forced to work together with someone and he seemed to crumble.  He couldn't deny that he was working better with John, the devil, whoever he had been spending his last weeks with. It was a sick twist that the only friend he seemed to be able to keep was the devil himself.

Sherlock sat on the couch, face in his hands. He was desperate. More than anything he needed to know about the reasons for these crimes and he feared all the work of the past two hours had been tainted by his anger. It had started with finding John missing and it seemed like he could not shake it off. John had been good to him although there was no primal reason for it. He was playing along, as if he was just another human. Sherlock had to admit, the devil fitted too well into his life as if unintentionally he had always left the space empty. Sherlock was sure he was going mad. He had needed to close himself off but he had failed. Suddenly, here he was, rendered completely useless by a simple argument. Objectively, he was in the right. Subjectively, he felt like rolling up into a ball and shutting out the rest of the world.

John headed off to Regent's Park. When he had left the flat, he didn't have that aim in mind. He just wanted to leave through the door, so he would actually be free to go wherever he pleased. Apparently, he had already spend too much time on earth, his feet carrying him to the park. It seemed like something he would do if he were human: Taking a walk when Sherlock was particularly insufferable. Being around other humans who cared particularly little about who he was, helped him calm his temper. It had been centuries since he had last cared about the earth. He had just disregarded it as a place full of boredom. Sherlock had forced him to take a closer look. London really was a pulsating city, letting good and evil and all in between clash. John found that he loved it. It was so much more intriguing than the ins and outs of his life. Sherlock's dazzling intellect just made it all shine brighter. John had felt like an outcast wherever he had been his entire life. His current situation just highlighting all the flaws that had accumulated over the eons. Sherlock had simply picked out whatever information he needed and disregarded everything else as boring. John had felt strangely accepted by him. It made their current situation hurt even more. The feeling was strange, he was the devil after all, still he had to admit that with every minute his clarity continued to return, he more and more felt like his outburst had been misplaced. After all, he had only hired Sherlock because all other methods had failed him. Trying to force the other in a direction would just lead to another failure and slowly, John couldn't afford more time passing.

He sighed. He needed to trust Sherlock to do what was best in this situation instead of controlling him. Their argument had just shown how practiced in his methods he was. Sherlock had been using his last years to perfect each and every skill, John now could use. It also was obvious that in order to be successful, Sherlock needed freedom. Never in his life had John felt in the wrong, but at the moment his feet were carrying back to the flat to apologise.

 

"Sherlock?" John asked softly, peaking through the flat door. He had made sure to use nothing more than human speed. Somehow, he felt like the time would be best used to figure out his own thoughts a bit.

A muted growling came from the couch. It sounded less biting and more desperate. The figure curled up on the couch looked miserable. John had never seen Sherlock like this. He had witnessed mood swings extraordinaire in his time here but this was new. The long lanky body was curled up so small, another person could comfortable fit on the couch beside him. Sherlock's hair looked tousled and knotted, just has if he had been tearing at it.

John sighed and stepped into the flat "I'm sorry." He wasn't sure if there was a betting pool open on these words but he was determined to never let anyone get to know of his current situation.

Sherlock didn't really move so John silently closed the door behind himself and went over to the couch, sitting down on it. He rested his arms on his legs, focussing on the table in front of him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have questioned your methods like that. After all you're right, I wouldn't have called on you if I hadn't already tried everything I could come up with." John couldn't hear any reaction from the other, so he tried to go on. "I'll do my best to stop questioning how you do your job. I would only like for you to tell me the course of your decision making. After all, it still is my duty to solve this problem and I would very much like to be a part of your work."

The silence was tense until Sherlock shifted. He looked over his shoulder. John waited, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Could we find a compromise?"

Sherlock seemed to think for a little more and John started to get a bit anxious. He didn't like the strained atmosphere between them and rather wanted to go back to the bickering they had settled in the previous weeks. "Come on, I apologised. Run me through what you did, perhaps I can help." John offered hopeful and was relieved when Sherlock finally uncurled himself and got up. His movements were still cautious and there was some reservedness left.

"I tried to link motifs and their consequences" Sherlock hummed, trying to compose himself again "It would obviously help, if we knew what they were asking for even if it wasn't for their own benefit."

"Well, I might be able to help with that one a bit" John smiled and leaned back, breathing slightly easier again.

 

The next day, John had been busying himself with cleaning the flat a bit. He couldn't stand Mrs. Hudson coming up and doing those basic tasks for them, especially when they were both perfectly able to. It had taken him approximately ten minutes to stumble across a pile of brown folders which he recognised to be the same kind as the ones NYS used.

"Sherlock what are these?" he called, picking up the folder right on top, flicking it open. Somehow he had developed a curiosity towards anything Sherlock kept in his flat, mostly because there was the one or other weird story attached to it.

"Old cases I suppose" Sherlock shrugged, looking back at the experiment on the table. After their fight the day before, Sherlock had craved a bit of the simple normality. He had just begun a random experiment which came to his mind and for which he luckily could scrape together ingredients. Puttering along in the kitchen usually helped to settle his mind when a case was hitting a slow spot. Now, he hoped it would coax the easiness back into their weird cohabitation.

John hummed and started reading. He quickly was surprised at the report he had picked up. The file described a quite vicious murder. Then it went into detail about how it was solved. John was doubtless Sherlock hadn't written it. For that it was too descriptive, not at all in the style the detective wrote his blog in. Still, John couldn't help but marvel at the reasoning process described. It appeared all so easy and obvious when laid out that way. Nevertheless, he was certain that presented with the same evidence, he wouldn't have managed anything close to Sherlock's feat without cheating a bit.

"Sherlock, do you remember how long this took?" John murmured absent-mindedly while sitting down in his armchair. He continued to thumb through the pages of witness reports, photographs, notes and in the end the confession.

"Which one?" Sherlock asked, proceeding to cut through the optic nerve of the dead mouse on the kitchen table.

"Ehrm..." John thought for a moment "You could probably call it 'Hands tied' "

Sherlock looked up a bit confused "I don't have a case with a title as ridiculous as that. None of them have titles if I remember correctly."

"Well they should" John grinned "It's the one where they found the tied up hands of the victim first and then the victim himself crammed in a trunk."

"No they definitely shouldn't, especially not something as ridiculous as that." Sherlock sounded a little affronted.

John laughed softly, "You are way too serious about your work. I'm sure your blog would be a lot more popular if you told them more as stories."

Sherlock put down the scalpel, "They are not stories to entertain the common mind. They showcase the logic behind my reasoning. It is a precise science and it should be reported as such."

"I think it's brilliant what you did there" John shrugged "And I believe others would see it the same way. They just can't get through to the core points because they get lost in your explanations."

Sherlock paused for a moment. He wasn't sure if he had heard correctly. In all the time he had helped out the Yard, no one had actually called any of it brilliant. They happily took whatever information he found for them, but praise was usually not part of the equation. It was new to not be directly insulted for his reasoning. Although John was the devil and they just had had a major disagreement, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a small warm feeling spreading in his chest. For once he welcomed it, caring very little about consequences.

"Sherlock?" John asked, throwing a gaze over his shoulder where the other seemed frozen in place.

"Huh?"

"Would you mind if I tried my hand on writing them up? I don't have anything to do either way and it might give me something to occupy my time with because I think I've watched all of reality TV twice now." John smiled openly. It wasn't hard to feel content and happy around Sherlock, he found.

"Why would you want to spend your time with that? I've written them up perfectly well myself already" Sherlock said, pulling off the rubber gloves and leaving his place at the kitchen table to mix a solution at the counter. Sadly, it would have to sit for quite a while before he could use it for anything, meaning he would quickly run out of tasks in the kitchen.

"I would just like to try myself at it and perhaps, well you could drum up some private business." John shrugged and grabbed a few more files from the stack. While the first one had been impressive already, he was sure Sherlock had managed a few more genius feats.

"What would private business do for me?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose. The few clients he got already felt like too many. They just came with deliberately pedestrian problems to waste his time.

"I don't know. Earn you money. I heard that a lot of humans are after that, seems really popular." John raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes "I'm living very comfortably here in this flat and so far it's all working out fine without having to deal with a lot of private clients. There are just a few idiots who somehow find out about what I do. Are you behind that?"

"Behind what? Sending you clients?" John snorted "I really don't have time for that."

"Well, they always seem like they came straight to punish me and last I heard that was your job." Sherlock shrugged.

John looked at him with a disbelieving smile "Did you just make a joke? Oh god, you really just tried to make a joke." John couldn't help but giggle a bit. Sherlock was funny, yes but mostly without him trying to be. Usually, the absurdness of the circumstances or a comment he made were the baseline to any humorous situation. John was sure this was the first deliberate attempt Sherlock had made in a long time. "Come on, I need a little more detail. I'm sure you can run me through your process again."

Sherlock was a bit reluctant but he couldn't really pretend he was busy anymore. He wasn't sure why he felt this hesitant to talk to John about his cases. They were all written out on the Internet, free for anyone to find and read. Still, walking John through them step by step seemed almost as if he was admitting to something. The problem was, Sherlock didn't know what that was. "There is not that much more then what Lestrade wrote in his reports."

"Sherlock, I have been in yours and Inspector Lestrade's company already. As much as you might be able to tolerate him, it shows that your mind grinds at the idea of him doing any justice to your thought process in his reports."

Sherlock gnawed at his bottom lip. It was true. The reports glossed over quite a few parts where it was obvious the DI hadn't quite caught what he had been rambling on about.

"I chose the case and you tell me whatever you remember?" John suggested with a soft smile. He really was interested in what Sherlock had been doing the past years. After all, he had risked a few snooping looks now and then, always telling himself that is was just to make sure Sherlock kept to the contract. It really had been because he had been stumped by the other's directness. In all his time, people rarely intrigued him but Sherlock had drawn him in without even trying. At first, John hadn't even noticed he was working towards having Sherlock open up more and more. Now, he really enjoyed the closeness between them, although it left a slight bittersweet taste. After all, he was the devil, this was just doomed.

Sherlock carefully sat down in the black, leather armchair opposite the devil, pulling his feet up. It couldn't be that bad. They were just going to talk about old cases, weren't they?

 

After a few hours Sherlock felt like he had been questioned within an inch of his life. Oddly enough he found himself enjoying it half way through. John let him explain his steps thoroughly and although his enquiries sometimes were a bit daft, it didn't feel like a waste of time. Sherlock hated to entertain the thought but it could possibly have been because John was muttering quiet, little words under his breath like "brilliant" and "amazing". Of course one of the first people to not disregard his abilities as a freakish accident had to be the devil. Somehow that just fit too perfectly into his life.

"Ah, I think that's enough for now" John said and stretched his limbs which had gone a bit stiff, "I'm not even sure if I remember all of that but it should last me a bit for the start." He stood up and plucked three files from the stack which he had deemed as especially intriguing. "Thank you for allowing me to do this" he smiled at Sherlock and already wanted to take his leave towards his bedroom, when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"What is it you do then?" Sherlock hadn't realised it was something he wanted to know. At the moment, he had only been concerned with John staying a while longer. He wasn't yet ready to let the easy talking mood they had been in slip away.

John looked at him with a raised eyebrow the 'I'm not allowed to talk about it" already on his lips.

"Come on, I told you way more of my day's work than necessary." Sherlock hummed "I'm sure there is at least a bit you can tell me."

John considered it for a moment. He didn't often get to talk about who he was or what he was up to. Most of his associates either didn't bother asking or it was beyond their clearance. As the devil, he could decide whom to tell what but it had always felt wrong. Sherlock on the other hand was so far from anything that could harm him, he believed that taking him up on the offer to talk was an actual possibility. He glanced at the files in his hand and then back at Sherlock. With a sigh he returned to his armchair and sat down, "Okay, but I promise you it's not interesting."

A small smile spread across Sherlock's lips "Somehow I doubt that."

 

"You're saying that you are an approximately 13 billion year old divine being, cast out of heaven to reside in hell, punishing everyone who does not renounce his vices upon dying." Sherlock tried to summarise the basics he had grasped from what John had told him, "Meaning the whole religion thing actually has some truth to it?"

"Oh hell, no" John snorted, "People are weird believe me. What you've made up across the centuries is quite amusing but nothing more than that. I do have a bit of a problem with any extremist though, they usually take it upon themselves to punish others and I don’t like my job being done badly."

"Which means you actually all exists, meaning God and the Devil, Angels and the whole lot but you didn't do the things you've been said to have done?" Sherlock had a hard time wrapping his head around the concept. Accepting that certain things existed was easy but disengaging them from any religious meaning turned out to be complicated.

"Well, now it would depend on which religious view you take. Yes, something like what Christians call a God exist. Did he create the universe? No, not really. There is a form of afterlife and you need to staff it. That's where we come in. What you believe in throughout your life is your concern. None of us care if you were a Buddhist, Christian, Muslim, Hindi or just plain sceptic. It won't help you, unless you've manage to bring together a decent life." John explained, thinking back to a few memorable pieces of history, "You know, renouncing the bad is a lot easier when you haven't accumulated too much of it. Believe me the crusades were just a hectic time. Figuring out who knew how much and whether they were forced into it or believed in religious war, it was a huge mess. They believed in fighting for and killing in the name of something they had made up but those extremist always come up again."

"What then is good and bad? Since religion seems to be out of the equation, I'm not quite sure how one should live." Sherlock asked concerned. He already knew that he would probably face a myriad of charges.

"It's simple: Whatever you feel guilty about will be on a list that is weighted against you." John shrugged, "Humans are funny like that. They will believe they are acting out of all the right reasons and still feel guilty about what they did."

"No big list of red flags then?" Sherlock perked up slightly.

"No" John chuckled "You can eat as much shellfish as you want and have as many children out of wedlock as you can care for. Even if you murder without feeling a shred of guilt that won't be something we can get you for. Doesn't mean we haven't developed something like moral over time, too it's just a very individual thing and therefore can't be held against humans."

Sherlock pondered the words a bit and couldn't help but think back to the beginning of their acquaintance when John had started to list a few of the points on Sherlock's list. "Why does my sexuality count? You just said you don't subscribe to religious believers of any kind. Why would it matter if I were gay or not?"

"Because you feel guilty about it." John pointed out "I can't say why, perhaps it's a social indoctrination but you still feel like it. If you stop feeling guilty about it, it will disappear from the list. Life is about learning and mostly learning to let go. Most old people are marvellous at it. It usually is a joy to work with someone who feels like they have had a good turn alive."

John gave Sherlock some time to digest the new information. He could understand why it might be a hard reality to face. Knowing what Sherlock was now aware of would make a lot of people second guess every action from then on. John was relatively sure that Sherlock would manage to go on, though. Perhaps it would even make it easier, knowing what he was heading towards.

 

"Okay" Sherlock nodded after a while, feeling like he really wanted to move away from being the centre of their conversation "This means your job is to talk to everyone who dies? That sounds highly improbable."

"Well, I do have help and if you renounce all your wrongdoings at once, we would never meet. Most people aren't aware enough though to do that. It's usually a tiered system. I get the ones with the longest list and sometimes I take some of the minor cases just to relax. Also, time doesn't quite work the same way but let's not get into that."

"That sounds all highly… unbelievable."

"Yeah, sorry about that." John flinched slightly.

"I assume there are other rules to what you do?"

"Yes"

"And regulations? “ Sherlock tried to get a few more information. Perhaps John would be willing to disclose a bit more. The little glimpse into the other world didn't seem quite enough.

"Yes" John answered again with a nod. He was seeing what Sherlock tried to achieve.

"And you being here telling me about it..." Sherlock sighed, already guessing at the answer.

"Violates a good chunk of them but then again, I am the Devil so, I'm good." John grinned. Apparently, Sherlock understood at least a bit about their boundaries. Although, John was sure he would get the one or other question again, probably thrown at him in an opportune moment.

Sherlock laughed. His situation was ridiculous. Here he sat talking to the devil about the afterlife and jobs as if it were just another evening conversation topic. It was fun, relaxing and somewhat bonkers enough to hold his interest. Suddenly, he wasn't bothered anymore that the case had hit a drought. He felt that he would happily spend his remaining years like this and the severity of that didn't even occur to him.


	7. Speaking of the Devil

"You mean, the whole afterlife is a company run by you? How does one keep up a work structure in those circumstances? I mean you don't seem to have vacation days or anything, earthly CEOs can tempt their employees with." Sherlock asked while he was eating a few of Mrs. Hudson's scones. John had reminded him that he had been more than twelve hours without food again and Sherlock actually felt like indulging him. Somehow along the way, they had fallen back into a conversation about the devil's usual daily business.

"Well, one thing in my favour is that my 'employees' are actually damned for eternity." John pointed out, while he was making a few last changes to the second case he had revised for Sherlock's blog.  "They are kept in check quite easily by rules and regulations."

"You rely on something not put in place by yourself? No wonder they are running havoc making shoddy deals." Sherlock said, flipping the page of his book.

"They were put in place by me, I have you know, and they are encouragement enough to do the right thing." John reminded him.

"Fine, I had already excluded the involvement of one of your daemons. They are way too stupid to handle an entanglement like that. They've proven that many times over, trying to get something off of me." Sherlock shrugged and went back to concentrating on his copy of The Divine Comedy. It just had seemed like the right book of light reading in his current situation.

 

Their quiet afternoon was brusquely interrupted with Mrs. Hudson calling up the stairs "Sherlock there is someone for you at the door." This was followed by quick steps clambering up the stairs and the landlady's indignant screech of "You can't simply go up there." Sherlock and John both looked at each other. They were quickly up and out of their chairs, making it just halfway to the flat door before a man burst through it.

"Sorry for the interruption boss, but I think I just made a mistake." he panted, still holding the door open. It was clear that he couldn't quite decide who he should address. Sherlock hadn't even considered that the devil wouldn't look like John on a normal basis. Luckily, John was a lot more aware of the situation and caught himself easily.

"How did you even come here Isaurus?" he pulled the other into the flat and just called down to reassure Mrs. Hudson, "All fine here, Mrs. Hudson. Please don't worry." After closing the door he hissed "What are you doing? There are measures to go through and how did you find your way here?"

Sherlock still stood there under a slight shock, one hand holding his book as he tried to piece together what just had happened. Since John seemed to know the stranger, Sherlock assumed he must be a daemon.

"Well, I'm sorry boss. There is talk about where you are so I just took my chances. I mean yes, I should have gone the official way but then it probably would have been too late again." Isaurus couldn't seem to stop babbling, obviously aware of some form of mishap.

"Talk?" John asked, slightly worried as he straightened again.

"You know with you being gone most of the time, work’s being pushed down the ranks and some start keeping an eye out. It's not that hard once you piece the snippets together actually." the daemon shrugged.

"Let's just pretend, I didn't hear any of that because if it turns out daemons are snooping around instead of doing their work, it won't be a walk in the park." John sighed and shook his head. He really had been slacking the last days. Obviously, even daemons would catch on at some point. He needed to be more careful in the future. One incident was enough, he didn't want more daemons pop up on their doorstep.

"Yes, sorry boss. Really, but you've made clear that this matter was of utmost importance." the daemon pointed out, head held a bit higher now.

John had to admit that this was the truth. His instructions had been clear and now he struggled to blame Isaurus for following them. "What is it then?"

"I think the deal I just made was wrong." the daemon mumbled.

That was when Sherlock perked up again. He had drifted off into his own head a bit, trying to discern the differences between the devil and a daemon. Sadly, there were none apparent to his human eye. The possible connection to his case, made his attention jump right back to the conversation. They didn't yet know how soon after a deal the victims were killed, so there still was a chance of finding them alive. There were so many more information an alive person could give him, Sherlock was practically buzzing with excitement. Perhaps this would final bring about a turn in the fruitless meandering of his brain. "Who was it?" He asked quickly, fixing his gaze on the daemon.

"Huh?" Isaurus looked at Sherlock confused. You couldn't argue that he hadn't noticed the other's presence before but he had clearly ignored him to a great avail.

Sherlock rolled his eyes "The person you made the deal with: Who was it? Name, address, description. Where you parted, where they seemed to be going."

"I'm not sure..." Isaurus stuttered, shooting a worried gaze at John.

"Tell him what you know." John commanded with a nod of his head, "He's the one doing what none of you could."

Isaurus looked slightly uncertain, finding himself in an utterly strange situation "There wasn't too much. Just the usual dark alleyway you go to when you feel like you need to hide something."

"Even the undead are stupid." Sherlock growled impatiently "Get to the point. I'd rather have an alive victim than a dead one."

"I'm not technically..."

"Don't care, get to the point" Sherlock cut him off. He already felt the adrenalin rushing through his veins. Waiting on people whose minds worked several paces slower than his own always became a struggle at that point.

Isaurus swallowed then continued his report with great effort for clarity. John wasn't sure if it was because he still was present or if it had been Sherlock's doing alone. He had to marvel again at how easily the other could command a room to do his bidding. There was a natural air of authority around Sherlock whenever he was actively working on new information for a case. It was enough for John to let the swipe against his worker slide. Daemons could be slow on the uptake but that wasn't an excuse to hurl it in their faces.

 

"You're absolutely certain it was here?" Sherlock asked one last time, panting a little. As soon as the daemon had produced some viable pieces of information, Sherlock had started to rush them out the door. He had no time to inform Lestrade if he wanted even a slight chance at finding the victim alive.

"Ehrm, yeah" Isaurus nodded still seeming like he was put in the wrong movie. Sherlock couldn't wait for him to acclimatise to the new situation. For the first time in what appeared to be forever the case was giving him a fresh lead. He had no time for employer-employee difficulties from the afterlife.

"What is he doing?" Isaurus muttered as Sherlock crouched down in the alley-way.

"Working" John simply stated matter of factly. He had already endured the looks Isaurus had shot him, when they moved through the streets of London in Sherlock's tempo. Obviously, it seemed a bit nonsensical to waste time on human transportation, at least to the daemon. John hadn't only learned to accommodate for Sherlock's humanness but also started to enjoy the time it took to displace yourself. Suddenly, a journey somewhere actually felt like a set part of what you were doing, instead of just jumping from situation to situation.

Isaurus managed another two minutes of silently watching Sherlock examine the alley before he murmured, "It's probably not my place to ask, but boss: Why are we letting a human in on this? I thought there were rules."

"You're right, it's not your place to ask." John hummed in agreement. For a moment he thought about leaving it at that but then Isaurus actually had proven some brains with coming straight to him instead of dwelling on it longer. "Nevertheless, Sherlock's got a certain set of skills which are tremendously useful and he knows criminals. I figured it would be as good a shot as any."

"Yeah, but what about the rules of human involvement?"

"I made the rules, remember?" John raised an eyebrow "I can break them whenever I so choose. Doesn't mean you can, though. I think you've just set your career back a few decades with your little stunt."

Isaurus groaned, body slumping in annoyance. John almost felt bad about it but if he didn't show a strict line, he'd soon have the problems Sherlock had already ascribed to him.

 

"Okay, got everything" Sherlock announced and turned back around to his supervisors. At least that was how the silent presence of both the devil and a daemon watching his every move had felt. Luckily, he was used to the inepts of the Yard standing around him. He hadn't gotten too many information from the location but it had been better than nothing. A slight hunch was always better than stumbling around in complete darkness.

"What did he do next?"

"Took a cab down the road there" Isaurus pointed down towards the main street.

"Direction?"

"You're lucky I already had a bad feeling about this so yeah: towards South Bank. When he got out I left to come to you." 

"That's where we'll go then. With any luck he's still taking a walk and not lying dead somewhere" Sherlock mused. His limitations were really beginning to bother him. The time he would need to take a cab right into the heart of London could be all the criminal needed to cover their tracks. Still, Sherlock couldn't let John set off on his own. Any second hand information was always worse than first hand. This was his case, he had to be the one who figured it out.

 

"And now?" John asked when they got the river. Their cab had dropped them off near the London Eye. "You can't deny there is a lot of ground to cover here. He could be anywhere on any side of the river."

"It might surprise you but I had thought about that already." Sherlock bit at his lower lip, furiously trying to figure out the best course of action.

Isaurus was treading on the spot "Boss, it's not like we couldn't quickly, you know... "

"I take this side up towards Millennium Bridge. One of you can look at it down towards Vauxhall, I doubt he'll be there but better safe than sorry. The other one moves in the same direction as me just the other bank of the river. If he is alive, we need to know who is behind this. Descriptions, names, people he met with, anything and don't tell him he's about to die just get the information." Sherlock instructed. He hated the possibility that it wouldn't be him who found their victim but this was the only way they could cover more ground.

"And if we don't find anything?" Isaurus asked "How do we get back in touch."

"John's got my mobile number" Sherlock said, already turning to head towards his allocated direction. He didn't see the thoroughly puzzled gaze the daemon sent after him anymore.

"He means me" John growled lowly "It's easier for this world but should you ever decide to give up that piece of information, I have a very cosy place for you."

Isaurus swallowed, "Sure boss."

 

Sherlock had created a mental image of the person, Isaurus had described to him in detail on the cab rides they had taken across the city. Now, he was comparing each and every person he passed with it, trying to find the match. It was a ridiculous endeavour. Sherlock had already jogged half up his assigned path, pass the tourist attractions and the National Theatre when he noticed a man.

"Mark Bosworth?" Sherlock called, approaching the man who turned around, obviously having recognised his name.

"Who are you?" the man asked confused.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes. You've gotten yourself into a criminal scheme and I need to ask you some questions."

"I don't understand" the man shook his head and just as he wanted to turn again, a shot rang from somewhere behind Sherlock. He jerked with the sudden loud noise. Almost immediately Mark Bosworth crumbled to the ground. Sherlock cursed under his breath and contrary to other people in their vicinity, who were feeling outwards and away from the victim, he rushed towards him.

"Mark" Sherlock said insistently, watching blood soaked slowly through the front of the man's shirt, "Come on, I need something, anything. Who did you meet with? Who contacted you?" Although he knew it would be futile Sherlock tried to exert enough pressure to slow the blood flow, while one hand fumbled for his telephone. "Mark, I know you're not yet gone. Who did you meet?"

"Said 'e could help me" the man gurgled.

"Who?" Sherlock insisted knowing his time was running short. Paramedics could be here any second, or one of the many police patrols.

„‘was nice, you know." he coughed up some blood "Said 'e was Moriarty."

Sherlock took a shaking breath. A name. Sadly, Marks vitals were dwindling further, making his death more and more inevitable. Sherlock finally was pushed aside around the same time Mark's breath stopped. He straightened up, looking down at his one hand covered in blood, the other holding his phone, the message he had sent to Lestrade still open.

 

Another victim. Oxo Tower. SH

 

"Did you get anything from him?" John's calm voice asked just behind Sherlock.

"Yeah, a bit" Sherlock nodded, not quite wanting to surrender the piece of information. He didn't yet know if it was an alias or a real name. If it wasn't an alias, it would give John too much power and despite how much Sherlock had to admit enjoying the other's company, his soul was on the line. It got harder to remind himself of that with each passing day but it still was the truth.

"I'm not getting anything before you mulled it over, am I?" John chuckled softly, Sherlock able to vividly imagine the small half-smile on his face.

"Don't you have something to attend to?" Sherlock asked and turned around to face John.

"I suppose" John sighed, "Might take a bit so, don't wait up."

"I can take care of myself."

"Sure" John grinned, "Don't forget about dinner."

"I have to remind you that I just ate a short while ago." Sherlock scrunched up his face a little.

"Still, be nice to yourself until I'm back. This case isn't over yet."

"No, it isn't quite" Sherlock looked over that the bulk of people around the corpse. When he looked back, John wasn't there anymore. They would both have to follow their own work for a while.

Sherlock had patiently waited for Lestrade to arrive at the scene but that was about it. He just confirmed that he had received an anonymous tip and that the man had been dead on arrival. No need to prolong his stay with stuff he could tell them later on. It wasn't important for the immediate, official investigation, so Sherlock kept the man's last gurgled words to himself. The small chiding Lestrade gave him, was easily overheard because his mind was already working on how to fit the few new scraps into the bigger picture. Something told him, he would need a bit of help with this one but nothing the police could offer. As his feet carried him along the bank of the Thames and away from the crime scene, he quickly put out a text to one of the more dependable members of his homeless network. With a bit of luck it shouldn't take more than a few days to sniff out their culprit. That realisation should have Sherlock thrumming with excitement, the possible conclusion to the case nearly in his reach.

"Hey, what're you thinking about?" Isaurus appeared out of nowhere, walking with his hands in his pockets next to Sherlock.

"Not sure it's of any concern to you." Sherlock just hummed. He did enjoy the South Bank for a walk, preferably in the late evening when the tourists had cleared the area. It helped him think and provided an unassuming enough backdrop for him to paint the tracks of his mind on.

Isaurus didn't let go, "I did get demoted over this issue. So, somehow I feel like it concerns me quite a bit."

"It's technically not my fault, you decided to break the rules." Sherlock pointed out calmly. Although, he knew he lucked out with a daemon acting outside his boundaries. It hadn't been the wealth of information he had hoped for, they had been a little too late for that, but it had been so much more than just another corpse.

"But it helped you." Isaurus said, turning his body slightly towards Sherlock's

"I wasn't denying that."

The daemon was quiet for a bit, probably thinking of a way to go about this. "Okay, so I helped you and go the short end of the deal. All you could do now is give me a few information for my trouble."

Sherlock chuckled "I don't think I ever talked to a daemon who didn't want to bargain."

"It's not a bargain if I don't get payed." Isaurus grinned and tilted his head. He really seemed to be one of the more bearable daemons Sherlock had met in his time. Although he was a bit too skippy and upbeat for Sherlock's liking.

"Information?" Sherlock offered.

"Nah man, not the kind of payment I can use." the daemon shook his head.

Sherlock shrugged, "Sorry, but my soul's already taken."

"I know, you're somewhat of a legend." Isaurus hummed, hands back in his pockets and shoulders drawn up.

"Huh?" Sherlock asked surprised. He hadn't expected the turn their conversation was taking.

"I mean, you managed to send eight of us packing and the last one quite spectacularly." Isaurus actually sounded impressed, which just confused Sherlock a bit more "No one dared to get close to you again, so we all weaselled out of it once you called. I think the boss was just so impressed with your grip on us that he wanted to see for himself. He hadn't actually made deals in centuries anymore. So, as far as afterlife famous people go, you are quite high on our list."

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow, not sure how to answer to that statement. It never had occurred to him that daemons weren't loners who acted completely independently of others. He wasn't sure if it was a fame to be proud of but perhaps he could use the knowledge for something in the future.

 

They walked a few hundred meters in silence. Sherlock thinking about his status in hell and Isaurus letting him do so. Once Sherlock had concluded his train of thought, he jumped back into their conversation. There were a few things he hadn't yet dared to ask John. Having a daemon in a talking mood at his side just seemed too good of an opportunity to pass "So how does this whole daemon situation work?"

"You wanna know about how one ends up here or what ones does?" Isaurus tried to clarify Sherlock's question.

"Both preferably"

"Ey, I don't give up information without a trade back." the daemon laughed and nudged Sherlock "You tell me how you got on this case and I tell you a bit about being a daemon."

"Like I said always out to bargain but okay."

"You first." Isaurus insisted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Predictable."

"Don't care, I'm curious."

Sherlock just shrugged "It's not interesting. The devil appeared in my flat and offered me the case, the end."

"Not buying it. Come on, he doesn't go around offering cases to people and usually people aren't accommodating of him. You need to go into a bit more detail to convince me."

Sherlock sighed, "He knew I was working cases for New Scotland Yard from when I sold my soul. It was the reason I sold it in the first place. So, he knew that I already did it for a living, I guess that is why it came to his mind at all. I, on the other hand, like puzzles. I'm bad at saying no to an intriguing puzzle and even you have to admit someone fooling the devil and his hordes of hell is far from boring. So I accepted and since London has quit the crime rate, I need him to confirm which victim belongs to this case and which doesn't. It really is a simple trade of information."

"Wow" Isaurus whistled through his teeth "It certainly makes sense, in a way. I mean it doesn't explain why he's been abandoning his work for staying here but if someone's gonna ask that, it won't be me. I've got enough to work myself back from, thank you very much."

"You actually didn't come out of this on top, did you?" Sherlock inquired, just having caught on to the fringes of conversations John had had with the daemon.

"Nope. I broke rules which means I'm getting punished. Fun thing is though if you're already dammed for eternity, punishment really is a fickle thing. For us it just means being demoted. You start right on the bottom when you first become a daemon. Over time, with good work, you can climb a few ranks. Each rank comes with its perks, deemed to somehow make your eternal damnation a bit more… comfortable? I just managed to undo my work of the past, let me think, two centuries by coming to you. Especially, because I stumbled in on your entanglement in this case. Bit different if you just barge in on the devil or on him and a human." Isaurus grimaced.

"You didn't really interrupt anything, so that punishment seems a bit harsh." Sherlock pointed out. Their day had been slow until Isaurus had stumbled into the flat. John had just been occupying himself with rewriting cases and Sherlock had mostly read. Nothing important had been happening. He made a mental note to ask John about it.

Isaurus eyes grew big as he quickly said "Oh, I interrupted a lot more. Really, doesn’t bode well if the ruler of hell has a soft spot for a human and it somehow comes out."

"I see how he has a soft spot for me." Sherlock commented sarcastically "He has my soul and I'll die in six years. Really, seeing the touchy feely devil there."

"You have no idea." Isaurus murmured, looking towards where they were going.

"I live with him."

"That's what I meant."

They walked in silence for a few more meters, Sherlock trying to understand the implications and not really coming to a result.

 

"So, how does one become a daemon?"

"You really don't wanna know, man.", Isaurus shook his head and offered a lopsided smile before disappearing quickly, leaving Sherlock alone to ponder whatever that conversation had meant.


	8. The Devil's Own Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to everyone who is celebrating it in whatever way. Here's the last chapter for Act 2. I'm once again greatful for the kind comments you left me and for everyone who has read :) I'll see you again with that little extra chapter which I had somehow forgotten to count. I can't yet make a guess at how much time I'll need befor there is an update. Just know there is a chapter coming all on its own before Act 3 starts and concludes this story. See you there :)

Sherlock had spent an abysmally large amount of time waiting for John to return. At the very least, it felt like an eternity to his mind. In reality it might only have been until some point mid-morning the next day. Still, he had used his night to not only formulate a plan but also to send out initial instructions to his homeless network. Tobias had answered by the time Isaurus had disappeared. Not for the first time Sherlock was glad he had handed out inexpensive mobile phones to the core members of his network. In the past, he would have to go on a manhunt through the city to find whomever he was looking for. This system was saving everyone a great deal of time. They didn't have too many information yet but Tobias had assured him that he was getting together a little party to see if the name had cropped up somewhere. Moriarty was a curious enough name to be memorable.

Meanwhile Sherlock scoured through the internet and the police's database which he had acquired access to as recently as a few months ago. Well, acquiring access for Sherlock usually meant, nicking stuff off Lestrade, like his accreditation for the database and then making his own. It was an easy enough task for him to do although his mind wasn't completely on track. Still, he knew that any additional information he could unearth and forward to Tobias would help them work more efficiently. Really, what Sherlock wanted was to either define the area of the city Moriarty was mainly operating in, find some incriminating accomplices or best of all: find a photograph. Even a semi-accurate description could save them a lot of hassle. Therefore Sherlock was lying on the couch and meticulously searching every path his laptop offered him. The work was neither fun nor engaging but it also didn't need too much of his focus. Sadly that only meant his mind was wandering off, thinking about how he felt like his relationship with John had changed. They had started out as forced flatmates, weary of everything the other was doing. Now, Sherlock had to admit John had become almost integral to the flat. Somehow the work went slower without the steady flow of background noises, the pointed commentary or small nudges. Sherlock had gotten used to a hand on his shoulder when they were looking at something, a tap to his arm to focus his attention or a quick stroke along his back when John was leaving his vicinity. It was a strange routine but they had fallen into it way too readily. Sherlock swallowed and looked up at the wall for a moment. Picking the devil as his companion really hadn't been his best idea but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

 

John tried to remember when the last time had been that he had this actively despised his work. Sure, he never had been joyful about it but currently each passing moment trickled by annoyingly slowly. The only consolation was that Sherlock had apparently managed to get some kind of information of the dying man. It hadn't been the ideal situation but like this they didn't only have a corpse to go off of. Sherlock had said himself that an alive victim would be more use to him than another dead one. It should have bothered John a lot more that the detective had been secretive about whatever he had unearthed than it did. He supposed that the amount of living time they had shared, made him lenient towards Sherlock. His methods and behavior were odd but somewhat endearing, John had to admit. He found that he was rather grieving the missed opportunity to see Sherlock work with new information. The single track focus was fascinating to watch. Sherlock lost himself completely in the task and John had found himself more than once observing just for the sheer pleasure of it. He was probably overstretching the bounds of their contract a little but he couldn't get himself to care. What he did care about were the mind-numbing tasks still ahead of him. Keeping track of how much time had already passed on earth just made it worse and John really wasn't in a good mood because of it.

 

"He looks awful" John commented, looking at Sherlock's laptop screen.

"He isn't what you would conventionally call nice." Sherlock sighed. It was quite the mark that he didn't jump anymore when John's voice appeared out of nowhere. Even when he had known that the other hadn't technically been in the flat, it didn't seem to shake him anymore. Whatever the underlying psychological reasons were, Sherlock didn't want to explore them. For now, he had enough on his plate with the sudden feeling of content blooming in his chest at John's reappearance. He had to have taken a few major turns on the way to madness when he suddenly felt happy with the devil back peering over his shoulder.

John chuckled "Or you could put it that way. Does he have anything to do with this? Or are you again on some tangent that helps you?" After their first major disagreement, John had tried to ask more questions about Sherlock's reasoning process to avoid another confrontation.

"Could be one of the associates. Not sure yet but the homeless network is keeping an eye out for him." Sherlock shrugged "He's one of a few people who fit the bill of ruthless henchmen. Someone had to pull that trigger and they definitely weren't an amateur. No idea yet how far they are in it but whoever did it must have some kind of connection to the man we are looking for."

"You've got a homeless network?" John asked surprised.

"They are incredibly useful. Everyone wants to ignore them so they can go where I can't. Plus, they live on the streets all the time, making them effective eyes and ears. After all, I can't be everywhere at once, they can." Sherlock offered as explanation.

"So it's purely business for you?" John raised an eyebrow and settled in his chair across from where Sherlock was sprawled on the couch.

"Of course." Sherlock just hummed, starting to shut down his computer. The exhaustion was beginning to claw at the edges of his consciousness and he'd rather have his night's work under lock and key before it took over.

"No possibility of you keeping an eye out for them and so on?" John asked, tilting his head slightly. Somehow it sounded like a thing Sherlock would do: Subtly looking out for society's outcasts because once he had been one of them.

"Obviously they get paid if they deliver something useful." Sherlock muttered.

John smirked, "Mhm, bit of personal vindication is it?"

"Because I use the city's resources to my advantage in contrast to the police? Hardly." Sherlock closed his laptop perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary and sat up.

"You say the one thing but I'm quite certain you mean the other." John grinned which earned him a little scowl from Sherlock who was rubbing his hands across his face. For all it was worth he looked tired and worn out. "So how was your night?"

"Awful"

"Yeah, cheers" John sighed. For a moment their eyes locked, and it seemed like there was a lot more left unspoken. They were starting to tread on shaky ground.

 

It wasn't long, maybe another day or two, until Tobias got in touch again. Sherlock hadn't found much more for the Network so he had been solely relying on their gut feeling. He had to admit, he was pleasantly surprised when the lanky youth showed up in his flat with a huge grin and an envelope full of photographs.

"Got something?" Sherlock asked, rising from his kitchen chair.

"Yes, but first this" Tobias nodded and held out a batch of receipts for Sherlock to take. "A new friend of yours?" the boy asked, nodding his head towards where John had been continuing his re-writing of Sherlock's cases but now was watching the two closely.

"If you want to call it that" Sherlock hummed, leafing through the batch of receipts. "So, you're telling me that this was quite the necessity for observing the target?" He held out a receipt for three large meals and a few alcoholic drinks at a pub in south London.

"Well, you know how it is." Tobias crossed his arms behind his back with a cheeky grin, "Need to keep your employees happy."

Sherlock chuckled it was that kind of forwardness that had him secure in his decision to make Tobias the head of the group. If that meant paying for the one or other meal outside of what was necessary for the case, Sherlock could happily live with it. "Okay, if your information is good, I'll pay this one, too. Show me what you have." Sherlock nodded, and waved him through to the kitchen.

John couldn't quite turn his attention wholly back to his writing. He had been in a flow just before the boy had arrived. Going back through Sherlock's old cases had become fun, because he felt like he was getting to know the other a little bit better with every case he re-opened. Sherlock had also stopped complaining about being asked seemingly mundane questions concerning his cases and like predicted the audience had increased dramatically. John enjoyed the little change of pace from what usually was his routine. Sherlock had toppled over quite a few things in the devil's life and currently he felt actually like living rather than existing. Especially when he got to watch Sherlock interact with someone he knew well but who hadn't yet met John. It was always fun to see people trying to overwrite their gut instinct to distrust him. Lestrade wasn't good at it, so they had settled for a facade of niceness. Mrs. Hudson apparently didn't have an instinct to feel queasy about him, which John found very novel but lovely and Sherlock… Well, John wasn't sure what Sherlock had been doing in the past weeks. Somehow the stiffness and distance had drained away between them. If it was for the better, would still have to show itself.

 

"Finish up, we need to get going in about two hours if we want to have a chance at catching him tonight" Sherlock declared, when he had seen Tobias out of the door. He tucked a few photographs into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, no need to let them fly loose. He couldn't help himself but keep the vital information close to his chest, although footing only on the contract he could have handed it all over and declare the case solved. His stupid pride wouldn't let him do that though. He needed the moment of absolute exhilarating thrill, needed it more than he liked to admit. This case was his to conclude, even if just for a moment.

"Prepared to tell me anything yet?" John asked, closing the laptop. He knew that theoretically he could make Sherlock talk and do his bidding. Practically, he had failed to muster the courage or willpower to do so periodically within the last week. Sherlock had managed to effectively handicap him and John wasn't even angry about it, just a little disgruntled.

"Nope" Sherlock let the -p- plop audibly as he disappeared into his bedroom.

"So, I'll just run after you like a faithful dog, shall I?"

"Oh, I believe I could use a hound of hell" Sherlock looked out around the corner of the door and grinned widely.

"I should strike the fear of your life into you." John sighed and shook his head.

"I'd love to see you try."

"Can we just stop bickering like an old couple? It's getting disconcerting on my end." John called back, settling the laptop on the coffee table between two empty mugs and a stack of newspapers.

"Only because you are old" Sherlock shrugged and reemerged from his room, dressed in a clean, dark blue shirt.

"Pulling the age card on me doesn't work" John chuckled "I'm ancient."

"I know, you look the part."

"Sometimes you would do better to remember who you are talking to" John groaned. Yes, he had a fondness for a slightly bratty Sherlock but there was a line.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment and then said with a soft smile, "As far as I can see I'm talking to John Watson. Haven't seen the devil around here in a while now."

To his own surprise John couldn't find a flaw in that reasoning.

 

"You sure he's here?" John murmured, looking up and down the street they were standing on. Sherlock had managed to leave him completely in the dark on any and all details of what they were doing.

"Yes"

"Shouldn't you have called Lestrade?" John asked scratching his neck, a nervous habit he seemed to have developed.

"Why? I've got you with me." Sherlock said confused and threw a glance at his watch. They had an approximate time window of half an hour. Of course it had been risky to come here right tonight when the Network didn't yet have time to confirm that Moriarty really had the habit of going to the same club every night. It seemed risky behavior but if you had tricked the devil for two years already, perhaps it was just a show of confidence.

"There is not a lot I can actually do when you don't hand over some information." John said lowly. So far he was playing along nicely but it got more and more frustrating to not be in the loop.

"If any of your research is correct, you won't be able to get near him anyway because he's decked out in devil repellent." Sherlock hissed "I've got this covered."

"There is no such thing as devil repellent."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "I wasn't going to name any and all holy items he could be carrying around. Bad luck and he's a wanna-be van Helsing."

"Hey, pop culture. I thought you deleted it." John grinned.

"It seemed fitting to be brought back." Sherlock shrugged and jerked when he saw the door of the building opening. They would need to start moving to look like they were coming across this part of town purely accidentally. By no means was this the best tactic but Sherlock was too jumpy from the possibilities stretching out in front of him to care. After all, Moriarty should be confident enough to let him follow for a bit. He never had calculated on them staying undiscovered observers. "Come on" Sherlock whispered and started to stroll down the street, trying to hide slightly behind a plaster of calmness.  

 

For the first five minutes they seemingly followed without being noticed but after a series of nonsensical turns, Sherlock knew they were just being tolerated. His senses were on edge now and it had nothing to do with John or the case or in fact what he could gain from this case. It was simply the situation demanding his focus, although he found it a lot harder with John behind him and without the knowledge of what lay before him.

Living out any good cliché there was, they ended their tour in a small alley way, further out from any city activity than they had already been. They were coming in from the one end, Moriarty a good five meters in front. Although the alley was narrow you could escape it on both sides. It was more a way of gaining privacy than backing someone into a corner.

"Having fun following me like stray dogs? “ Moriarty stopped and turned around, facing John and Sherlock.

"Interesting enough to observe your way of making decisions. Really, very impulsive there, Mr. Moriarty." Sherlock answered calmly but kept his distance. John's presence was nagging in the back of his head.

Moriarty smirked, hands resting in the pockets of his trousers. He was smaller than Sherlock would have imagined. "I see you brought a friend. How is that working out for you?"

"He's been to hell and back, you know." Sherlock grimaced, "I couldn't faze him."

"What a poignant picture."

"Oh no, I mean that." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "But I don't think you brought me onto the set of a B-list action movie to talk about our friends."

"Ah, you're right. Would be too easy, wouldn't it?" Moriarty shuffled a bit of dirt away with his foot, still looking relaxed and absolutely calm which stood in stark contrast to how Sherlock was feeling. There was something wrong here, he just couldn't pin point what. "Sherlock Holmes, drug addict meddling in police business."

"Recovering addict, if you please. I do my dirty work on my own. “Sherlock interjected.

"Oh sure, my fault. Miraculous recovery you made there. You were a dead man walking."

"A bit of luck, exercise and good nutrition. You know how it works."

"Indeed." Moriarty's grin was cold and hollow, "Always good to have a bit of extra protection isn't it?" A small silver cross was peeking out beneath the collar of the other's shirt. If it wasn't the only sign, it was the most obvious as to why John was staying a good few paces behind Sherlock. Now it was only hoping that Moriarty hadn't actually guessed at the true nature of his friend. Better to let him assume it was just another daemon. 

"Doesn't help when you go around killing people. The police doesn't like that and last time I checked they were fine with the church." Sherlock said with a bit more force than needed. This talk was making him feel jittery. He had been in countless situations similar to this but there was something off this time.

"Oh, they never catch me." Moriarty waved off with a giggle.

"I've got you." Sherlock pointed out, "And you know, I like to meddle in police investigations."

"Oh dear, you've got me here but do you think I'll just stay here like a good dog?"

"I'll find you again."

"I doubt that."

"Oh, I've got connections, you wouldn't dream about."

Moriarty laughed, a shrieking sound which was unpleasantly amplified by their surroundings, "Oh this really was a lovely chat." He tilted his head slightly, taking his hands out of his pockets. "I'm really sorry but I'll have to cut our conversation short here. Lovely talking to you." Moriarty smirked and before Sherlock had even a moment time to identify the danger, which had been bugging him for a while already, a gun was fired.

 

The shot rang loudly through the narrow alleyway, bouncing off the brick walls. The sudden sound was enough to startle Sherlock for a moment. Looking after where Moriarty was disappearing, he wanted to make up the lost ground from the surprise shot, trying to go after Moriarty. With his first step he crumpled as his left leg gave out underneath him. Confused he looked down and saw his thigh covered in blood. It took the pain as long as the realisation to hit Sherlock's brain. The shot hadn't hit some part of the alley but his leg. The rational part of his brain was starting to be concerned at the amount of blood which kept seeping out of the mess. The rest was still piecing together how he could have ended up here. He had seen multiple people being shot in multiple scenarios, from different angles and with different motivation. Now that it happen to himself he was utterly at loss. The shock had settled deep in his bones, numbing his surroundings and slowing his brain to a crawl. He just stayed on the ground, looking at the wound in confusion.

"Shit, Sherlock don't let it just run out." John called frantically. In contrast to the detective, he had realised almost as soon as the gun was fired what the target would be. For the first time he felt something akin to dread run through his body, holding his mind in a vice grip, as he sped towards where Sherlock was crouching on the floor, obviously not registering anything. With numb hands John was trying to apply pressure on the wound, completely ignoring every instinct which screamed at him to go after Moriarty. There was no way he would leave a bleeding Sherlock behind, they would find Moriarty again and now there was something much more personal on the devil's list.

"You're a genius but you couldn't have foreseen that, could you?" John muttered, trying to figure out the best way to keep as much blood as possible inside Sherlock rather than on the pavement. It was frustrating to be reminded of Sherlock's humanness in quite this harsh of a fashion. With fumbling hands he found himself calling an ambulance. Whoever the poor souls would be that got send on this mission they'd rather get to them quick because John realised that should Sherlock be lastingly harmed he wouldn't be able to account for his actions.

 

"It's going numb" Sherlock muttered when John ended the call, his vision was getting fuzzy and his head pounded from the loss of blood. He was barely even registering the pressure of John's warm hands on his thigh anymore. The bullet had only hit his leg and now that the initial shock had settled slight, Sherlock also knew it had hit the outside. He would live but it didn't make it any more comfortable.

"No shit" John rolled his eyes, trying to shift a little nearer because Sherlock looked dangerously close to passing out.

"Couldn't you just... you know, work your voodoo?" Sherlock mumbled, suddenly feeling like it was the best idea ever to rest his head against John's shoulder. There was a cheap irony about John being there when Sherlock was trying to make yet another escape from death's doorstep. Perhaps this would be their strange constant. 

John sighed and shook his head, careful to not dislodge Sherlock "You know I can't. You have to get through this yourself."

"Knew I should have put in a bit about keeping me alive" Sherlock groaned and John was sure he felt him slipping away. It was one of the worst experiences of his existence and John breathed a sigh of relief when a pair of experienced hands pulled him away. He stepped aside towards the wall of the alley. Sherlock was out, he wouldn't notice him disappearing from his side for a moment, even if it made John's inside clench. He feared he might be becoming more and more human as time went on. Somehow Sherlock had managed to push himself so far into John's thoughts that now it seemed impossible to disengage him from his life. John couldn't deny that he was thrown completely off guard by his on reactions. Rather than going after the person he had been searching for years, the one component that got him into all of this, he had stayed by Sherlock like some stupid dog. None of it made any rational sense, at least not until John considered that since he had made that initial deal with Sherlock he had been checking in periodically. Somehow their first meeting had him so intrigued that he couldn't help himself but watch what Sherlock was doing with his life. Given the opportunity to involve himself with the other again, John had practically pounced on it. With that in mind his this development shouldn't be such a big surprise.

 

Of course it would be Sherlock who managed the impossible: Make the devil fall in love with him.

 

\---- End of Act 2----


	9. The Devil Builds his Chapel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m terribly sorry that I left everyone hanging for about five months. The last Bachelor term had me working harder than expected and I simply didn’t have the energy to continue writing. Now, I have about another month before the first term of my Master degree starts therefore I will try to churn out as many chapters for this as I can manage. This is the aforementioned extra chapter which I somewhat forgot in my posting plan. You are getting this now to tie you over while I work on Act 3. That one I will post like Act 1 and 2 whenever all chapters for it are done and I can post a chapter every two days. My aim is to finish this story before the year is out. Again, I am sorry that there was a long silence but I hope you still like the story :)

"What a hateful bunch" Sherlock grumbled as he limped out of the hospital doors. It hurt but he definitely wasn't about to accept help. Not after he had worked hours on convincing the doctors to let him go. They hadn't been concerned much with the wound itself since it hadn't pierced any important arteries. His blood loss and subsequent blackout were more of a concern to them and after stitching up his leg, they had wanted to keep him in for observation. At the time, he had been too weak to put up much of a fight so he stayed the night. As soon as he had woken the next morning, he was hell bend on getting out of there. Hospitals weren't his favourite place especially when doctors were trying to unearth more and more information.

"Don't be so harsh on them, it's only their job and they did manage to patch you up." John chuckled, about half a pace behind Sherlock. He wasn't too sure about the strain the other was exercising on his leg but he sure wasn't going to mention it. There was a grim determination set on Sherlock's face, the kind you don't question.

"They were nagging and doing stuff they weren't supposed to do."

"No, they just checked you over and found one or two more issues than just the bullet that ripped through your thigh muscle." John pointed out. Luckily, there were cabs waiting in front of the hospital. Sherlock likely wouldn't rest until he was back in the flat.

"None of them predominantly important though. They stitched the wound up and I could have been out of there." Sherlock huffed, grimacing slightly as he slid on the backseat of the cab. The problem was that the wound was hurting a lot more now than it had when he had been shot. What a pity that your body didn't continue to produce pain relief outside a stress situation.

"Sherlock, you know quite well that losing nearly 2 litres of blood does not make you a prime candidate for 'being out of there immediately'." John reminded him gently.

"They gave me a transfusion and all was fine again." Sherlock muttered grumpily. The pain was pulling at the edges of his mind and he was cursing his past addiction problem which prohibited him from getting any real painkillers. He wasn't looking forward to the next days of moving as little as possible in order to keep it manageable. Besides which he would need to devise a new tactic to go about the Moriarty case. John hadn't seemed to be in a hurry to take up whatever loose ends had been left when Sherlock was shot. Rather worryingly he had stayed by Sherlock's side. He felt that they would have quite some down-time now to figure out what mess they've gotten themselves into.

Sherlock glanced over to where John was sitting next to him in the cab.

"Anything I can help with?" John asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Sherlock shook his head and gnawed slightly on his lip as he turned to look out of the window, "No, just thinking."

 

 

"Argh… this is just undignified" Sherlock cursed and pressed his hand to his thigh just above the wound. Walking up the stairs to 221B had been slow and painful. It didn't bode well with Sherlock's already irritable mood.

"You've been shot, what did you imagine?" John snorted, closing the door behind them. "You'll be doing a lot of sitting around for some time. Hope you've got enough to occupy your mind with."

"It's not like I have an almighty being in my flat who could get rid of this." Sherlock huffed, pointing at his leg in annoyance.

"You know I can't do that." John sighed and went to make tea. At least that way they would have to discuss this topic long distance and John wouldn't need to be faced with Sherlock in pain. Seeing Sherlock flinch with every move, had put quite a considerable dent in John's reserve.

"Actually, I don't" Sherlock groaned, shifting on the couch until he had found an acceptable position with his leg up on the coffee table, "You just say so and want me to believe you."

"Well, it's how it is. I can't go around and willy nilly make things happen." John hummed, "What kind of world would we live in if that were possible?"

Sherlock tilted his head back to rest on the cushions before answering "But you have the powers to."

"Yes, in a way I do but they don't work like magic." John admitted and clattered about the kitchen a bit more than necessary for making a cup of tea. Somehow his mind wasn't on the task.

"Sorry, but they do sound to be magic. There is no scientific answer for what you're doing." Sherlock hummed, desperately trying to shift his awareness away from his aching leg.

"Perhaps not in a direct cause and effect way but there are some basic rules." John pointed out, leaning against the counter while he waited for the water to boil. The few minutes it took to ready tea felt like an eternity, even if they got him a bit of time to put his words in order. It wasn't as if he didn't want to desperately help Sherlock at the moment, it just wasn't possible.

 

"You know about the law of conservation of energy, I suppose?" John asked when the tea was done and he came back to the sitting room with two cups.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"That's how it works. I can do whatever I need to do but there is a price to pay. If I give you something, I need to take something. I can't push the balance either way, even if I wanted to." John handed Sherlock, who was looking at him through one half closed eye, one hand closing around the mug with the steaming liquid, "That's the thing, I'm not actually a mystic being humans have come up with. You all are bound to the rules of physics and so are we. The only thing we can do is stretch them but ultimately there is a foundation to this universe which cannot be broken. Not even by being the devil, believe me I tried hard in the beginning." 

Sherlock gingerly held the warm mug in his hand, letting the idea mull over in his head for a while "Why are you taking souls? Isn't there another way one could pay for the energy required?"

John chuckled and settled a slight distance away from Sherlock on the couch, "It depends on the nature of the deal I suppose. Souls are just a very high source of energy. Most people have some pretty major issues we should sort out, which in turn means we need a lot of energy. Sure, if you just wanted us to bring you a pizza a year of your life or so should be enough. But you guys invented delivery service so that's not really part of our portfolio anymore."

"Pizza delivery? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Don't look at me like that. People were very simple in the beginnings" John shrugged, "It was usually just getting them something they couldn't obtain in their position. I don't quite know when it shifted to more outrageous requests but it must have been around the time Europe started to give the church more influence. You know suddenly, we weren't just some weird spirits and whatnots anymore but The Evil. Whoever dared associating with us tried to get as much out of it as possible. Stories travel incredibly well through humanity, soon the standard offer was a soul and a few years of your life. It wasn't my idea, you humans managed that all on your own."

"That's just ridiculous" Sherlock huffed, shaking his head slightly. It was exciting that John volunteered a few more information. Still, Sherlock couldn't always believe it was that simple. "If you wanted to heal the wound quicker or take away the pain or whatever." he nodded his head towards his leg, "You would need to transform energy from one state into another?"

John nodded, "About it."

"Does it have to be something creepy like my soul or blood or could I just offer you some high energy food? I mean, energy equals energy, doesn't it?" Sherlock thought aloud. It seemed to be the logical conclusion.

"Now you're getting weird." John chuckled, "but to answer your question: No. You can’t go and buy me some power bars in exchange. The energy count of your soul or a year of life is too great to be subsidised with a Happy Meal."

"It was just an assumption" Sherlock murmured and drank a bit from the tea. It was so much better than whatever ghastly stuff they had served in the hospital.

"Just not a viable one" John hummed. Sherlock was slowly starting to look more relaxed again. His distaste for hospitals had been obvious every step of the way he had been awake for. The pain wouldn't have subsided completely, although Sherlock was resting the injured leg, but the other's body wasn't as tense anymore. Perhaps it was also just something John was imagine through wistful thinking. After all there weren't a lot of things which could make Sherlock feel uncomfortable in his own flat.

 

Sherlock was starting to feel pleasantly drowsy. It hadn't yet reached the deep tiredness which compelled you to rest. For now he was content just lounging on the couch and abusing John's talkative mood a little. He didn't quite know which event of the previous day had brought it on but he enjoyed the satisfaction of settling some of his curiosity. "There is one thing I still can't quite figure out, apart from your wonky powers." he hummed, letting his head role to the side so he could look at John, "If you didn't originate from religion, why did the cross stop you?"

"Noticed that one, didn't you?" John sighed.

"Well, you told me in the beginning that holy items were why you couldn't sniff him out and it was just very obvious that you stayed back." Sherlock shrugged.

John nodded, "Yes, if used by the right person I can't get close."

"I assume that it doesn't only apply to Christian items then."

"You're right. Whatever has been declared or perceived as holy in whatever religion or cult humans have come up with can be used against a daemon." John said, searching for a way to explain his dilemma more clearly, "It's the firm belief in the items powers that robs us of ours. They are still somewhat effective when used by someone who doesn't believe in them but I could still do enough harm to those."

"If I were to put a cross on..."

"You'd have a nice piece of jewellery that would pose a few minor inconveniences for a lot of daemons but I could simply take it off." John smiled.

"Because I think religion is utter bullshit, right?"

"Yes." John nodded.

Sherlock thought for a moment about the implications he had derived from John's explanation, "Isn't that a somewhat limiting rule? I mean people can declare whatever item, be it a shoe, as holy for them. It seems to me like there are a lot of useless rules that only hinder you."

"You know that gravity thing? I think it's a pretty limiting rule, don't you?" John countered.

"It's a law of Physics not really a 'keep your hands off because I'm wearing my holy pair of underpants' moment."

"For you it is on most occasions but humans have managed to counteract the force of gravity to push rockets into space and fly to Ibiza." John shrugged, "It's not really a thing of the impossible and therefore for me not really a boundary at all. I assume it always depends on the way you're looking at it. By the way, you cannot just declare anything holy for yourself thus expecting it to have the same effect as for example a cross. It makes a difference if only you believe your underpants are holy or if millions of people before you have already put their faith into an object."

"The collective of humanity seems to be your greatest weakness then."

"You've collectively declared us the Evil, so yes you can fend us off, collectively." John shrugged, "I mean someone has to sort out the energy left in limbo after death. But it's not like any of us raised their hands to be considered the bad ones."

Sherlock hummed. It really all seemed to boil down to 'You've brought this on yourself'. Having at least a few more information made the mess which was currently penetrating his life a bit more tangible, a bit more sortable. There still were too many elements of the supernatural involved for Sherlock taste but he could slowly find workable angles.

 

Around them a deep silence settled as Sherlock was clearly stuck in thoughts. John felt more than a bit awkward, on the couch next to Sherlock while the other seemed miles away in his head. It made John be stuck in his own, too and it wasn't a place he wanted to be in at the moment. There were just too many thoughts coursing through it for a stay to be comfortable. Additionally, their seating arrangement was slowly testing John's restrain. Sherlock was near, vulnerable and not paying attention. If he wasn't careful, John could use all of it without meaning to. He only noticed that his fingers were twitching on his legs when he suddenly felt a soft weight settle over them. Sherlock had reached out his own hand, laying it on top of John's nervous fingers. The warmth spread through John's arm and he wasn't yet sure if it made his position better, more difficult definitely.

"Don't fidget so much" Sherlock murmured, voice softer as he was getting sleepier.

"I'm not fidgeting" John said a bit defensive.

"Yes you are" Sherlock just replied and settled is head on John's shoulder. He couldn't tell why, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

John's breath stopped for a split second. It felt like they were hanging in the balance with the situation able to tip either side. For a moment it was too much potential to properly process.

 

"So, ehrm" John cleared his throat. He was only slowly relaxing into their new position, still hyper aware of Sherlock's head on his shoulder. "Anything new you got from the little stunt tonight?" It was a cowardice route, talking about the case. John knew it as he tipped the balance into that direction.

"Hm" Sherlock reflected for a moment, "Apart from a flesh wound I presume?"

John just rolled his eyes but couldn't help smirking a bit.

"Not too much to be honest. I think there is still a lot that needs to be put into context but pain isn't the best catalyst for that kind of work." Sherlock sighed, "He obviously did his research and although he appeared quite controlled, there was the air of a fanatic about him."

"I got that from simply having him shoot you." John grumbled.

"But he didn't. He didn't shoot me, there was someone else positioned higher up on a building."

"Really?" John asked surprised. He was alarmed that he hadn't noticed it himself.

"I realised it too late myself. I was too focused on Moriarty." Sherlock was annoyed with his lack of focus which had gotten him into this situation. How could he have been this lacklustre in observing his surroundings? He made a living of seeing more than anyone else. It shouldn't have been possible for him to blunder into that trap like any old idiot.

"He was the immediate danger after all" John reasoned, "Why would you have expected there to be someone else?"

"Because he was too calm for being without backup. He knew exactly who you were and what we were out to do. Still, he happily invited us to follow him. No one who is playing a game like this would act in this fashion without knowing there was backup. I'm just surprised you didn't even try to go after him. It would have been good to know if he relies solely on the cross to keep him save." Sherlock mused, adjusting his position to make it more comfortable now that they both had gotten used to the physical contact.

John swallowed. He had assumed they would just ignore his actions or more lack thereof. "Well, you were bleeding quite heavily." he tried to argue weakly.

"Yes, but I'm also just any old human." Sherlock said "I mean he is causing you quite a bit of trouble, I concede that but in the end you now knew who exactly was behind the attacks and I doubt you are actually in need of my skills anymore. Wouldn't it have been convenient for you to just take your chances? I mean I could have died without fulfilling the contract leaving you overall better off. You would have known your culprit and could have kept my soul. I really can't see your reasoning behind not even trying to catch up with Moriarty." It was a painful admission to make but it had occupied his mind for most of the time he had spent in hospital. John had started behaving in contradicting ways and Sherlock wasn't sure how to place any of it. The contract was still lingering at the back of his head, how could it not, but their relationship had shifted. As much as he might have ignored it previously, recent events made it near impossible to explain it away logically.

John was forced into silence for a moment to control his racing thoughts. He needed to be careful with the words he chose. He had brought himself into this situation, allowing it go on for too long, so it was no use searching for guilt somewhere else.

"I couldn't really leave you there, could I?" he tried.

"Well, I just told you how you could and you didn't so why not finish your problem then and there?"

"You think I should have just left you to bleed out on the pavement while I, most likely unsuccessful, go chasing after Moriarty?"

"Seems to be the logical course of action"

"In what world is that the logical course of action?" John huffed "Not only is it uncaring but also completely idiotic. I'm not giving up the chance to definitely catch him for perhaps catching him earlier. If there is one thing I'm good at it's waiting. I've been doing that for eons."

Initially, Sherlock was silent. Their argument hadn't gotten loud per se, just more heated. While they hadn't raised their voices, you could feel the growing force with which every word was spoken. It was a weird sensation for Sherlock. He was used to people screaming and shouting at him. They got louder because their arguments got less convincing. He never had been in a situation like this before where he got the feeling that he might not have found all the possible routes of reason. He usually was the one having the overview while everyone else was blundering about in the dark but it seemed that he was missing something that John saw clearly.

"Why did you wait?" Sherlock asked quietly. This wasn't as exhilarating as learning new details about a case so he could adjust his view. This was tense, unnerving and settled a cross between nausea and vertigo in his stomach. It felt like he wanted and didn't want to know the answer at the same time.

John let out a heavy breath, "Because I could not bring myself to leave you there alone. I might not be human but that doesn't mean I'm cold and unfeeling."

"But you could have gotten him", Sherlock murmured unsure.

"Could have, yes but he could also have gotten away and where would I have stood then? It wasn't really a thought through decision, more what felt right in the moment."

"Why?" Sherlock asked confused and John was at his wits end. They wouldn't move forward if he continued to evade the topic. He squared his shoulders slightly, trying to force confidence back into himself. Slowly, John extracted his hand from where it lay beneath Sherlock's and moved it so he could gently pick up the other's head from his shoulder.

"Because you're definitely not the means to an end" he whispered and carefully pressed his lips to Sherlock's. The risk he took was immense and so he didn't dare moving forward until Sherlock almost seemed to melt into the touch. There was a short moment in which time stood still. Then they were kissing. It was slow and tentative, both still surprised by the development, exploring this new found element. The weight of a boulder fell from John's heart and for the first time in at least two centuries, he didn't mind being the devil at all.

 

 

Sherlock blinked slowly a few times, feeling as if there was a thought in his head but it was too difficult to grasp. He felt John's fingers run slowly along his jawline. It was getting increasingly hard to concentrate on anything. Worryingly, he didn't seem to care much at all. He should be feeling the discomfort of his injuries at the very least. Finally, he managed to pull himself back for a few words, needing to subdue the nagging in his mind.

"How do I know you're not making me do this with you devil voodoo?" Sherlock asked, voice low. Now that he had spoken the thought, the worry about the possibility settled uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach.

John paused briefly, turning himself more squarely towards Sherlock. "Because I don't actually take anything that isn't given willingly and", he gently cupped Sherlock's chin to press a soft kiss to Sherlock's bottom lip, "I wouldn't have been able to coerce you into anything for days now, even if I had wanted to."

"So I can completely ignore any directions you are giving me from now on?" Sherlock grinned slightly but with no actual intent behind his words.

"Oh, I hope I can still make you see reason." John chuckled, feeling slightly light headed at not being pushed away immediately. It was a strange sensation, especially since he hadn't hoped it would turn out quite this well. Really, he seemed to be having way too much luck for his own good and he wasn't sure if Sherlock's loopy state had anything to do with it.

"You sure you could convince me?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head slightly to the side with an inquisitive gaze. "I'm a pretty hard person to convince, or so I've been told."

"Hm" John hummed, letting his hand wander further towards the nape of Sherlock's neck, twirling a few strands of curly hair around his finger, "As far as I can remember, you've always been very open to my suggestions. Well at least until you decided something was incredibly useless that is."

Sherlock chuckled softly and John wasn't certain why that sound made him feel all warm and gooey inside. Whatever happened, he really couldn't let any of this transpire to anyone he was working with or he would be ridiculed for centuries to come. Earlier this might have deterred him from the route he was steering towards but now, Sherlock well and truly had him not caring about appearances anymore.

"Should we try out my powers of conviction then?" John offered, pulling Sherlock in closer so that their faces were again just centimetres apart.

"I might be open for that" Sherlock murmured and anew John felt him letting go of any resistance. It was a heady experience having such a controlled and logical human being discarding every principle he held, even if it was just for a moment. John took a deep breath and then they were kissing once more. It wasn't quite as restrained as the first kiss when John had been sure he would have to engage in some damage control afterwards. This was a lot more enthusiastic from both sides and John realised he would have no problem taking this further. Although he was still hyper aware of the sore parts on Sherlock's body, he gently began to let his hands grab hold of the detective. After all there wasn't a wound to Sherlock's torso so one hand deftly slipped under a well-worn old T-Shirt to explore the soft skin underneath. It came almost as a shock to the system when Sherlock gave a strangled whimper at the simple contact of hand to skin.

"Is everything alright?" John asked worried, pulling back and giving Sherlock a bit of space, trying to work out himself if he inadvertently had caused harm.

"No, yes... I mean" Sherlock stammered, looking quite a bit dazed, "You didn't hurt me it's just... I'm not really sure what's happening."

John smiled softly, "Is that a problem? Can't we just slowly go on and see what might come and deal with it when it arrives? Because I don't know what's happening either." He dared to pull Sherlock into a gentle hug again, reassured that none of his powers were running lose.

"It's just such an unnatural feeling for me" Sherlock sighed, very much enjoying the close contact though. There were just too many feelings rushing through his mind. It was close to wading through a storm, seeking the eye of it for a bit of peace and calm.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything against your will." John murmured and then remembered their history and quickly corrected himself, "Well, as much as it is still possible at least."

"I'm not solving your case against my will" Sherlock said, looking up at John, "I wouldn't have taken it if it hadn't interested me. I had somewhat dealt with having just a limited amount of time left in my life. After all I did it to myself. It was only logical to accept it and deal with it myself."

"You are really strange, you know?"

"I've been told that I'm a freak" Sherlock shrugged.

"I didn't say that" John interjected and pressed another small kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "You are strange but no freak. Everyone brings it on themselves when they enter a deal with us but there are few who accept their decisions without trying to somehow outwit the deal."

"Does it happen often? I mean that someone tries to break the deal?"

"More often than you think." John sighed "Somehow people think they can hide or use some form of religious exorcism to get their lives back. The soul is energy though and all we do is leave you energy for a predetermined amount of time, well then you will die after that set amount of time because you simply have no energy left to go on."

"So what would have happened if you hadn't made the new deal with me? How would I have met my end then?" Sherlock asked, intrigued by the line of thought they were exploring while his body got more and more used to their close contact. He wasn't sure if John had planned the diversion but it worked wonders on his mind. Now he had a topic to concentrate on instead of worrying about the next steps.

"Well, either you would have managed to die all of your own accord which is just incredibly likely seeing how readily you throw yourself into ridiculously dangerous situations." John raised an eyebrow when he saw Sherlock flinching slightly at his words, "That would have just meant that your contract was fulfilled then and there. If you had managed to live your allotted time without dying before, you'd have gotten a nice visit from someone who collects those with no time left. They are not the grim reaper or any other figure and they also only come for people with a contract. Everyone else very easily finds their way to limbo when they die but like I said we noticed that people with contracts like to evade the inevitable. Then it would only be: you die, you come downstairs, you suffer and well that's it pretty much." John shrugged not convinced if it was a reassuring thought for Sherlock.

"And the only difference to dying without a contract is that you don’t get picked up like a small child from kindergarten?"

"Pretty much and that you have the chance of blissful nothingness whenever you decide you've been punished enough for your life."

"I already told you that I find your business model more than doubtful, didn't I?"

"Plenty but it's not really my choice. It's a family business, so to speak, and you just have to go along." John chuckled just noticing how preposterous it all sounded when spoken aloud.

"I hadn't thought this conversation could take an even weirder turn." John laughed "Really, how is it that talking to you always ends with me feeling self-conscious about what I'm doing and how things have worked for centuries? It's not fair, you know."

Sherlock smiled and suddenly stumbled across a question that hadn't even occurred to him yet, "How old are you exactly?"

"Bit rude to ask someone that, isn't it?" John grinned.

"Come off it" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Okay, I'll tell you my age if I get another kiss out of you."

"I hadn't noticed that now you were also asking for payment in return for answers."

"Well, I told you I could persuade even you to doingstuff without using my 'devil voodoo' " John reminded Sherlock.

"And you're using answers for that?"

"You're curious and really take badly to not having your questions answered. I think that is a very valid tactic with you." John shrugged, "By the way, I'm waiting."

Sherlock groaned but couldn't bring himself to actually be annoyed. Usually, he wouldn't let himself be coerced into such a silly game but nothing was going the way it normally would anyway. Therefore, he lifted his head up a little and quickly pecked John's lips. Two could play this game.

"Hey" John said a bit affronted.

"It's not a complicated answer therefor it will be worth less than other answers" Sherlock laid out his reasoning with a self-satisfied grin.

"You are a berk, you know that?" John giggled and sighed, "Okay, I'm not sure how old I am but definitely older than humans. The problem is, I would need to count backwards to get an age but because there was no real manifestation of time in the beginning, I don't really have an age. You could approximate it with your modern methods of dividing up time but it will always be a bit mushy."

"That is not really a satisfying answer"

"Well, it wasn't really a satisfying kiss so if you want a better answer put some work into it next time."

Sherlock huffed but thought of another question he could trade in for a kiss. The game didn't seem as silly anymore. He was surprised at how quickly his feelings had turned.

"How often do you personally make deals?"

"Payment first" John demanded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again but leaned over to press his lips a bit more forcefully to John's. This time he couldn't escape quickly because John was prepared and caught him, lengthening the kiss quite a considerable bit more than Sherlock had planned on. He found that he didn't mind.

"That's more like it, but we still have to work on you wanting to get away as quickly as possible." John hummed, running his thumb across Sherlock's bottom lip, "I don't make deals often. By that I mean that I don't come out more than one or twice every couple of centuries. So be pleased that I was bored enough."

"As if. I told you there was no gratitude here for you" Sherlock pointed out, "Why do you only do deals ever so often? Shouldn't you be the main deal maker?"

"That were two questions if I heard correctly"

"You did" Sherlock shook his head in exasperation. The position they were in was getting a bit complicated for kissing. Sherlock always had to turn to his side which made his leg twitch in not a nice way. The frustration within him was growing.

"How about we get this somewhere you don't have to navigate slim furniture?" John asked softly, realising Sherlock was attempting to manoeuvre around the pain in his leg. Sherlock nodded, not wanting his stupid leg to get in the way all the time because there were only a few positions he could move in on the sofa without causing excruciating pain.

"Well then" John hummed and carefully cradled Sherlock, reasoning this would be quicker than trying to let him hobble through the flat.

"I don't like being picked up" Sherlock complained slightly.

"Well, you also don't like hospitals and you survived that one, too so shut it" John smirked and had Sherlock on his bed in nearly no time at all.

"Now back to the questions and more importantly: my payment" John grinned and situated himself looming over Sherlock a bit while being aware of where the wounds were located.

"You are incredibly selfish, you know?" Sherlock hummed, head slightly propped up on a pillow. It really was a lot more comfortable this way than on the couch.

"I'm the devil, I believe that is the number one trait ascribed to me" John chuckled, "Now, payment."

Sherlock smirked and tilted his head slightly to the side, catching John's lips. Gradually, he was getting the hang of it. The terrifying aspect of the whole situation was washing away and he began to let himself fall into it. It wasn't by far the first time he trusted John, he had made that mistake way earlier already so his brain didn't even bother bringing up all the dangers associated with his current position. Relief flooded over him as he realised that he really didn't care and that he was as secure in his current decision as he ever could be.

"I believe that should cover the cost of your question nicely" John whispered, gently ending the kiss to speak. "I used to be the main deal maker but humans quickly filled up my realm and I do hate eternal house guests who don't work. I simply delegated tasks and with the growing population it was for the better. Over time it simply grew bigger and bigger so that like any good CEO I suddenly found myself with a lot of free time. I don't make deals anymore because I simply don't have to. Whenever I come to earth it's because I got bored or because there is trouble like at the moment."

Sherlock nodded, the answer made sense and with all he had already accepted about 'hell' this didn't seem too far of a stretch. When he tried to think of the next question though, he found that his mind was increasingly uninterested in the game. He had already felt a bit annoyed when John had stopped kissing him to answer. Now he found himself gazing more at John's lips with no words forming coherent sentences in his mind than anything else.

"No new question?" John teased, sinking his mouth to the skin beneath Sherlock's ear. He started kissing down Sherlock's neck, drawing each touch of lips against pale skin out longer than the one before. "Were that all the questions you had? Somehow I doubt that"

Sherlock wanted to answer but noticed that his voice wasn't compliant to his mind anymore. All that came out was a slightly strangled sigh, making it sound like a feeble whimper. It elicited a horrified reaction from Sherlock and a smirk from John. "Ah, I see what the trouble is" the devil murmured, carefully bringing one hand in to rest against Sherlock's waist above his Shirt, "Do you want to stop or go on?"

Sherlock blinked a few times then croaked "Go on, please."

"Okay" John said and returned to kissing Sherlock. He was aware that they wouldn't go far tonight but it wouldn’t hinder him from ensuring Sherlock was sufficiently distracted from his day thus far. Sherlock's body was too beaten up and John wasn't entirely sure yet that the other's mind was completely comprehending the effects this could have. They would just take it slow which didn't bother him one bit. What he had missed in all these years was the type of closeness he was now sharing with Sherlock and he was happily lapping up every second of it, not expecting anything to be more than it already was.

Sherlock was completely enthralled by the situation as a whole. There was nothing quite like it which he had experienced in his life time and could use as a comparison. He had never actively been interested in this kind of physical intimacy but there was no denying that right now, he would not trade in his position. John's kisses were wonderfully distracting and he felt himself jolt a little when the other's hand wandered underneath his clothes again. Now that he was lying on his back, it was easier for it to reach across his torso, pulling the shirt up slightly as it got further up. There was a subtle difference in how John had touched him before, when he wanted to alert him to something or when he had just gotten caught up in human habits. This now was different, something new and if he had been any clearer in his mind he would have started cataloguing. Currently, his racing mind was entirely focused on John and what would happen next. He tried to predict patterns, tried to gauge where John's hands would touch next, how their lips would move on, how he would react. It quickly became apparent that whenever he had made a guess, John would contradict it and pull him into something unexpected. The sensation was thrilling, almost like running after a criminal with only the faintest of ideas of how the night would play out. It was ridiculous but glorious at the same time. Sherlock loved this high and John was freely handing it to him with no mortal danger attached. He feared he could get addicted to this.

"You're incredibly responsive, did you know that?" John panted slightly. The feeling of Sherlock's soft body underneath him react to every little touch was indescribable.

Sherlock just batted open his eyelashes in response, not having noticed closing his eyes in the first place, and reached out to actively pull John back down. Thus far he had only gone along with what John was doing but if the danger of the other stopping at any time was on the table, he would have to get a bit more active in his role.

"And demanding" John huffed, feeling Sherlock's long fingers tighten their grip in his hair. There would be a lot of self-control to be exerted by him tonight and John already felt the edges of his persona going fuzzy. Sherlock was like a vortex, pulling him in further and further the closer he got.

In a way, time seemed to stop for Sherlock when John's lips were back on his. Previously, it had all seemed rather innocent. This time there was intent for more behind every touch. The bedroom became like a little bubble they inhabited which had no connection to the world outside. It made it surprisingly easy for Sherlock to let go of the last restrains he had still been holding on to. He had always assumed that he wasn't a very feeling person but John was currently proving him wrong. Sherlock felt every touch on his skin and it spread like wildfire through his veins. He was sure that he was losing his mind but the sensory overload his body was sending to his brain was apparently exactly what he had been needing. Never in his wildest dreams had he assumed that this was something he could want, could enjoy. He felt John's hands wander lower, scratching slightly over the skin of his abdomen before they pushed away the waistband of his trousers. It was probably about then that his brain signed out completely, letting him fall deeper into the sensation flooding his nervous system. His vision went white and while he perceived his head was thrown back, neck arched upwards, he didn't remember moving out of the kiss. One hand was still holding on to John's hair while the other was gripping the sheets on his bed. His body was caught in a rush of hormones out of his control. His voice acted on its own accord and Sherlock felt like he was getting lost in it all until he heard soft words speak next to his ear.

"You're amazing."

"Look at how beautiful you are."

"Perfect, you're just perfect."

"Come on, you can just let go."

Sherlock caught those words, using them like a lifeline to struggle his way back to taking in what was happing. He could slowly disentangle the sources of information and it stopped overwhelming him. His mind was still fogged over but he felt his body again, felt John's firm grip and felt the moment his orgasm hit him with intensity. There was nothing he could compare it to, the rush of endorphins through his body was second to none experience. His body tensed and released and shook him for a few seconds which stretched out like hours, leaving him boneless. There was nothing left in him to give and a deep calm washed over him. He didn't enjoy sleep but it was coming for him fast. He tried to remember something, something still left to do but couldn't hold on to his consciousness.

"It's okay. Go to sleep" John murmured from a place that sounded like it was far away, "Go to sleep, you were brilliant." Sherlock just let his body relax and fell asleep, wondering how deeply he actually trusted John because this hadn't seemed like it was the end of it.

 

A few hours later, John was simply lying in bed next to Sherlock. The detective had curled up as best as possible with the injuries to his leg and was finally resting. Multiple times in the past weeks John had cursed his non-existent need for sleep. It appeared to be a blissful break humans could take from their existence. Obviously, it was incredibly risky and they were vulnerable to no avail but they seemed to enjoy it enough to dedicate whole rooms to it. John thought he might understand the sentiment a little when he looked down at Sherlock's completely relaxed face. Sleep had taken all the hard edges and strain away. Without being conscious there was nothing you could worry about and even Sherlock, who was always racing into action, seemed peaceful. It hurt John's heart a bit, or whatever equivalent he had. Sherlock was ultimately trusting him, a sentiment he didn't often receive. This was especially painful because whatever happened now, it would end badly. There was no way out of the truths of their lives. John could suspend his duties while he had a valid reason, the chase after Moriarty, to do so. Still, questions were already being raised and in his position he could not afford to lose grip for too long. Clearly, after Moriarty was dealt with, he would return to his life and Sherlock would return to detective work with practically no space left for keeping up whatever they had just started. John knew their time was limited and he wasn't sure if Sherlock just ignored that fact or was unaware of the risks any prolonged contact would entail.

John swallowed. Lying in the dark, he wished he too could succumb to a state of unconsciousness just to evade the thoughts in his head. There was no way out for them, no way forward, nothing that would make this any more bearable. John knew he had however long Sherlock needed to take down Moriarty and then he would be back to his eternity. A few weeks perhaps of what he longed for, of what strangely made him happy and not loath himself and then it was the same old for the next leg of forever. The only difference would be that then he would know how different it could be and he wasn't sure if the memories would ease the pain or ultimately be his downfall.

"I was right, I really don't often get to talk to someone like you." John whispered, forcing his mind to wander back into the past. The future just seemed too uncertain for comfort and if he already wasn't allowed a period of calm, he would not torture himself with all the possibilities this could go wrong, at least not tonight.


	10. Give the Devil his Due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this has taken so long. I'm also changing my original upload strategy a little because I have so little time at the moment that waiting for me to finish writing all of Act 3 before posting just doesn't feel right anymore. So here you go, it's a bit more of this story and I'm trying to work through this and finally finish it. I haven't given up yet, it's just gotten quite hard.   
> Thanks if you are still reading, it means so much to me :)

\---- Act 3 ----

 

Sherlock woke the next morning with a piercing pain shooting through his leg. He groaned, aware that the effects of his pain reliefs had completely worn off overnight. It wasn't the sort of pain that sometimes made him think faster, think better. It was all encompassing and bloody distracting.

"Sit up" John's voice sounded from somewhere quite near, "Come on, sit up. You can't swallow anything lying down."

Sherlock huffed and before he even had his eyes peeled open entirely, he was sitting half way upright and John more or less shoved the pain relief into his hand.

"There, take it. It won't get better immediately but you should start to feel the full effect within the next ten to fifteen minutes, at least that is what the packaging says. Other people have been divided on the time, some claiming it to be a wonder drug that works instantly and others complaining about it having as much effect as a mouthful of garden earth. I don't particularly understand that reference but there you go." John rambled on while Sherlock swallowed the pills and washed them down with a bit of water. The devil hadn't quite managed to spend the entire night lying motionless next to Sherlock and at some point, started researching the prescriptions the hospital had handed to the detective. After all, his cover still was that of a Doctor. It would be extremely suspicious if he were to be absolutely clueless in dealing with the injuries Sherlock had sustained the night before. The internet had been less helpful at certain points than he had hoped but anything developed through human nature would have that flaw. At least he had the dosage of all the pills worked out and thought to have a comfortable grip on how to change the wound dressing or address any bleeding if it occurred. It wasn't as much as he wanted to do for Sherlock, but it was as much as he could do.

"I know how painkillers work" Sherlock grumbled, rubbing his eyes to shush away the last wisps of sleep.

"Well, how should I know how much of your brain was still operational through the pain?" John asked, standing awkwardly next to the bed. He really hadn't done this in a long while, so he was a bit rusty on the protocol.

"My brain is working just fine, thank you." Sherlock huffed, "God, this will be awful. I'll be chained to the flat."

John raised an eyebrow, "Is that a problem?"

Sherlock just shot him a look of pure indignation.

"Oh, apparently it will be" he chuckled, "Anything I could do to make it at least bearable?"

Sherlock thought for a moment then nodded and kicked off the blanket, "Help me up and then we can figure something out. I believe I can use the living room to organise the case at least for today. Tomorrow will be another matter."

"So sure, of yourself that you only need a day?" John grinned but gently pulled Sherlock to his feet. He couldn’t help to find the other’s fighting spirit endearing.

"Please, there is less to do than you think" Sherlock looked up at him, hesitating for a moment. Then he quickly leaned forward and pressed his lips to John's, murmuring hastily "Am I allowed to do this now?"

John blinked for an instant, surprised by Sherlock's sudden confidence. "Ehrm, yeah I guess."

"Good" Sherlock flashed a smiled, "Living room then, I have a plan."

 

"This is your grand plan?" John asked a bit dubiously after he had set up a mountain of blankets and cushions on the floor which Sherlock used to sit and rest his leg.

Sherlock rolled his eyes "This is obviously not all of it, but I cannot use the couch since we need access to the wall behind it and an armchair has too little space for me to organise files on. The floor is simply the most logical option for me."

"You're not clambering up on the couch." John interjected decidedly. He would humour Sherlock's mood as long as they would not get him into trouble but letting him balance on a worn-out sofa with a gun wound to his leg was one step too far.

"I'm not going to, you are" Sherlock stated matter of factly, "But for that I still cannot use the couch as you would have to step over me otherwise and that's something I most definitely won't allow."

"I will climb on the couch?" John raised an eyebrow, trying to catch up with whatever Sherlock had thought out.

"Oh, please do keep up" Sherlock groaned, "I need an organisational map. That wall is perfect for pinning files and pictures to it. I have nothing else to pass the time today so I can also get going organising information outside my mind and perhaps get a reason for all of the madness we're in."

"Oh"

"Yes, oh. Now, can we please start? I will need that big box over there" Sherlock pointed at a brown cardboard box in front of one of the bookshelves.

 

At first, it was an agonisingly slow process. Sherlock was too quick for John to keep up and John hadn't yet figured out how to pin the scraps of paper to the wall in a fashion the detective was not totally appalled at. There were a lot of aspects of Sherlock's work which John hadn't yet figured out. Most of it seemed to take place inside Sherlock's head which was frustrating since John had no way of accessing whatever thought spiral was being followed at any given moment. At least he wasn't feeling too useless at the moment with being given a task.

"Really, no idea what he tried to achieve with this one" Sherlock murmured handing John another scrap.

"Send a message?" John guessed, looking at a recite from Moriarty's favourite establishment Sherlock somehow had gotten his hands on.

"By ordering a cocktail? He must have been awfully sure then that someone finds it. I mean it is understandable that he had to charm his way onto the good side of at least a few people, you cannot get everything with intimidation. But ordering a cocktail called 'Better Than the Devil' and having it be a message, really implies you are damn sure to be found out." Sherlock huffed and scribbled a few notes on a blank piece of paper.

"Well, it certainly gets my attention." John shrugged.

"Yes, because now you've seen it but it’s not like he sent it to you on a silver tray with a little tag of 'fuck you' attached."

"I never get anything like that because usually people don't know my address." John pointed out.

"Which I think is awfully inconvenient" Sherlock hummed "Just think about how much easier it would be if everyone could send their complaints directly."

John gave Sherlock a piercing death stare and growled "How about we don't test my patience in that way."

Sherlock laughed "Ah, come on what's the worst that could happen?"

"Sometimes I have the feeling that you forget who I am" John sighed.

"Forgive me that I find it hard to keep my mind engaged on mediocre details when a mad man is running through the city, acquiring quite a few relevant powers and resources." Sherlock pointed out with something that could almost be called a sweet smile.

"How nice to know that being the cultural embodiment of all evil is a mediocre detail for you." John chuckled.

"Generalisations aren't really my thing so I try to ignore them as best as I can, unclouding my mind so to speak."

"And what use did this unclouding of your mind have?"

"Well, for one I figured out that surprisingly, you make quite the desirable partner when you don't try to kill me."

"Hey, I wasn't the one killing you."

"Semantics" Sherlock waved the comment away, "and I believe you aren't as bad as you are made out to be, including having not as much power as people attribute you, and that might be making someone quite mad."

"How do you mean that?" John asked suddenly very interested, he really wanted to get to one of Sherlock's closely guarded theories.

"I'm not sure but looking at what Moriarty got out of the deals and how he is behaving, it seems like he's gearing up for something quite big." Sherlock murmured, "Add to that that he wasn't too impressed with you turning up basically on his doorstep and him having a very deep religious background, by which I mean it is scarier than falling asleep with the devil in your bed, he doesn't appear to be too impressed by your work. But that still doesn't tell me what he plans to do next or what he is working towards."

"So you are telling me that I have a mad man on my heels who is angry because I'm not the same as in the fairy stories he knows from bed time?" John raised an eyebrow, trying to detangle that part of human logic again in his brain.

"That's approximately what I was thinking, yes" Sherlock nodded "And since you don't want to kill him remotely..."

"There are so many reasons why I can't simply do that." John interjected, slightly annoyed that Sherlock still hadn't gotten the finer points of what it meant to be the devil.

"Just wanted to check" Sherlock said in defence, "So because you can't get rid of him remotely, we will have to go the old-fashioned way of figuring out what earthly evil he will be doing next so we can find him."

"That means I have to continue pinning stuff to your wall and being shouted at by you?"

"I don't shout, I just clearly tell you when what you are doing is wrong but fundamentally yes, that will be your job."

"You have no idea how close I am to take up your human practice of praying" John grumbled and turned back to the living room wall. As agonising as this was, he wouldn't trade it for going back to what actually was his job. 

 

 

It wasn't long after that they heard a knock on the flat door. Sherlock didn't even look up from where he had been situated on his cushion and blanket area. He was still intensely working. There were multiple slips of paper next to him and John had started pinning stuff to the wall above the couch in the correct way, finally. At first, John had had no idea where Sherlock was heading and there were a few indignant groans from the detective when John pinned files to the wrong place. Now, they had worked out a system with which John could somewhat easily figure out what Sherlock was handing him. He was currently hunting for some red tinted string in a huge box Sherlock had him pick up from the basement.

"What the hell happened here?" Lestrade asked, standing in the door a little gobsmacked. He hadn't waited long after knocking since you could rarely expect Sherlock opening the door for you.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock looked up at the Inspector, making it clear that he hadn't been expecting company.

"I've got a few questions to your serial killer theory and since you can't be bothered to come to the station, I have to make house calls." Lestrade sighed and zeroed in on the way Sherlock was sitting on the living room floor, one leg elevated, instead of frantically pacing or lying on the couch, "Wait, what's this all about?"

"What?" John asked, inserting himself into the conversation, "Sherlock's organising case notes on your serial killer."

"Why are you on the floor?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, doing his best to ignore John. He still couldn't pinpoint his suspicions of the other and therefore would rather avoid prolonged contact.

"Because it's spacious and I won't limit access to the wall." Sherlock rolled his eyes and held out another scrap, "Background four, victim two, theory 3" John took it without question, climbed on the couch and pinned the piece near the second victim's picture. Then he returned to hunting down that string.

"Sherlock, you have to admit this is strange even by your standards." Lestrade ran a hand over his face and held up the file he was carrying, "Will you look at this or not?"

Sherlock just stretched out his arm with an upturned palm, not moving which lead to Lestrade having to step nearer.

"Jesus, what's that on your leg?" the inspector suddenly exclaimed. Sherlock looked down at his wounded leg and noticed that some blood had appeared on the fabric of his pyjama trousers. It must have seeped through the bandage.

"Blood. Even you should be able to tell that it's blood."

"Yes, but what is it doing on your leg and why does it look fresh?"

"Because gun wounds may bleed a bit even after they were stitched?" John answered in a slightly annoyed tone abandoning his quest for string yet again. He wanted to add 'I'll get new bandages' but didn’t get the opportunity to since Lestrade indignantly screeched, "When have you been shot? Jesus Sherlock, I told you not to go running off on your own."

Sherlock leaned back slightly to get a clear line of sight towards John and shot him a look of 'Why did you tell him that? Now we're not getting out of a lecture.' John just shrugged with what hopefully counted as an apologetic facial expression. How should he have known that Sherlock hadn't told the DI what had transpired. Although in hindsight, why would Sherlock tell the DI when he had gone off to do something he had been explicitly forbidden to do?

 

"It's not bad, just a wound and it will heal" Sherlock tried to weasel out of the situation.

"Sherlock you have been shot." Lestrade said gravely, "How the hell did that happen? Believe me if you went after that guy on your own, I'm going to give you more to feel sorry about than your leg."

"Oh no, I went for a fun ride on the fair" Sherlock huffed sarcastically, "I won't apologise for taking action when all you can be bothered to do is sit around and play thumb wars."

"For heaven's …We actually work, did you know that?"

"Hasn't looked like it to me." Sherlock grimaced as he slowly tried to pull the fabric of his pyjamas down to access the soiled bandage.

"We can't just jump on every whim you have" Lestrade stepped aside a little to allow John to take a look at the wound, "We don't work for you but for the public and there wasn't a case."

"There was" Sherlock gritted out between his teeth.

"Only because you said so, not because you had viable evidence."

"I connected murders for you into a series, isn't that enough? And I hadn't even planned on acting, it was just to verify a theory." Sherlock pouted. Changing the bandage was turning out to be more uncomfortable than he had anticipated.

"You managed to get shot. How on earth will that ever count as not acting?"

"He was alone, and we were two. How should I have known that he got himself a sniper somewhere in the background? I thought it was pretty safe." Sherlock grumbled, it didn't help that he was still annoyed by his laps in judgment himself.

"You identified a possible suspect and didn't think to tell me about it?" Lestrade asked, obviously feeling slightly betrayed.

"He's not a possible suspect but the definite killer and I know you don't act until every and all basis are covered. I can't let him get away because you trap me in the mills of bureaucracy."

 

"Jesus" Lestrade ruffled his hair, contemplating what Sherlock had just revealed to him, "You really are all out when it comes to this case, aren't you?"

Sherlock just shot him an annoyed look. He was poutier than usual because he didn't like to be lectured. Yes, it had been dangerous, but he also had a lot on the line which he couldn't tell Lestrade.

"We need to figure this out" the Inspector finally decided and took out is notepad.

"What exactly?" John asked, having sat down in one of the armchairs well away from the DI after finishing the bandage around Sherlock's leg.

"This whole thing" Lestrade waved his hand about the room, "I can't just have the two of you running around and then expect us to just be able to take him into custody."

"I can't see why. It hasn't stopped you before" Sherlock said with a shrug of his shoulders. If he remembered correctly, it was how nearly all of his cases had gone down so far.

"Before" Lestrade pointed out, "investigations were opened by the Yard and not by the consultant which meant we already had the necessary groundwork in place for me to do a bit of freelance with the details when you caught someone. Currently, we have near to nothing. Whatever you find will be disputed in court and then we're back at square one just with a bad rep on top." Lestrade paused for a moment before he appealed to Sherlock again, "We need a bureaucratic basis to close this case neatly. There must be a way we can figure this out between the Yard and the two of you. Let me get in on this so I can help you and, in the end, tie up all strings. It's not only my reputation that hangs on this because I allowed you to start your own investigations when the Yard didn't believe there to be a case. Your future as a consultant is in with this, too. If nothing else that should be enough incentive to work out a way we can do this together."

 

Sherlock grumbled a bit. It wasn't that he couldn't understand Lestrade’s point. Obviously, he couldn't hope for Moriarty to be tied down legally if the chain of evidence wasn't perfect. Moriarty had not only connections but also money which made it even more vital that no court had wriggle room. The problem was that Sherlock had the contract with John and something told him that the amount of trouble Moriarty had caused wouldn't have John stepping back. There was no way the devil would concede his influence to the police. Sherlock was stuck in an uncomfortable place. He needed his job. Getting his soul back but losing what he loved would have him back to the beginning of this miserable tale. There wasn't any other way for him to act now, he had to hope he could figure things out later.

"What do you propose then?" Sherlock asked and turned towards Lestrade, "Your hoard of imbeciles will just blunder all over town and alert him that we're on his tracks. I can't use that."

"I wasn't suggesting having them 'blunder all over town' " Lestrade shook his head, "I need to open a formal case first and foremost. After I do that I can feed in the information you uncovered. Clearly, the point we will have to be involved is taking him down. That needs to be a planned operation with all the required documents and legal background in place. You cannot do this on your own."

Sherlock nodded, shooting a quick look over at John but he couldn't read a thing on the other's face.

"Okay, I'll give you everything you need for opening the case without overlooking a victim. Well, at least without overlooking one I know about. Once you have it figured out to a point where you would need results of investigative work, we can talk through it again. I don't think you can do anything wrong with investigating the murders on their own because I doubt you will get close enough to him for it to matter. Perhaps that is even a good bit of decoy." Sherlock hummed, thrumming his fingers together in front of his chin "But when we're ready to catch him, you have to promise that I do it. I have to catch him."

The last words were spoken with emphasis. Sherlock would have to still figure out how much exactly he would need to be involved to fulfil his contract but it was better to give Lestrade the information as a requirement.

"We can see about that" Lestrade nodded, having taken notes on their broad plan. He would have his work cut out for him.

"This is it then? We're working together on this" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock, even you need help sometimes." Lestrade smiled slightly, "I will leave you to your mess but take a look at your phone now and again."

 

 

"That went... well?" John tried tentatively when Lestrade had left the flat.

"Hm?" Sherlock looked up towards John, having been lost in thoughts.

"I mean that went not too bad, did it?" John repeated.

"Depends on which way you look at it but yes it probably could have been worse" Sherlock nodded. He still wasn't too sure about involving the police. After all, he made the deal and he would have to fulfil it. Now he not only needed his mind to work through the Moriarty case but also to figure out where the pitfalls of his alliance could be.

"I mean he was right: Even you need help sometimes" John shrugged. He admired Lestrade for not ignoring his gut feeling. Weaker people would probably have pushed it aside for the necessity to be nice and sociable, but the Detective stayed weary of John. It probably was the best defence anyone could have against a daemon - never trust them enough to turn your back on them. The thought of leaving Sherlock with Lestrade to chaperon him, made John's heart feel that tiny bit lighter.

"Very rarely" Sherlock said insistently, "Most of the time Lestrade's team just hinder my work."

"That's a bit snappy for people who let you in on their work without you having the proper education and degree." John chuckled, "You are just your word while they have the academic proof to back them up."

"That's stupid. Anderson went through a post-graduate degree course and you wouldn't even know that he finished basic school training successfully. Degrees are just for people who need to hide their incompetence behind a slip of paper."

"Hey, I didn't come up with the idea" John held up his hand in defence.

"But you used it to try and win that argument." Sherlock pointed out.

"Just wanted to give you the idea that perhaps you are better with a team to help you than pretending to be best as a single player."

Sherlock looked down at the slips of paper still strewn about the floor. Lestrade's file wouldn't add anything new but he couldn't risk ignoring it either. He needed to continue his work on the net. There must be a weak point, something he could twist enough to make his move. Gently rubbing at the skin above the gun wound pulled him back into reality. Whatever strategy he could device, it would entail him staying off his feet as much as possible. If he wanted to catch Moriarty he feared it would have to be done sooner rather than later. He didn't have the time to heal properly. He looked downcast at his traitorous body. He couldn't catch Moriarty, not alone.

 

"What's up?" John asked, having observed Sherlock as the other seemed to disappear into his head, apparently working through something. When suddenly a dark shadow had fallen over Sherlock's face John knew something was askew. He moved out of his armchair towards the couch behind Sherlock. "Tell me what you just went through."

"I can't fulfil the contract" Sherlock said crestfallen. He couldn't see a way out of his situation. Of course, he had done and would do all the needed work to catch Moriarty but he wouldn't be able to do so himself. He was effectively bound to sitting down and watch others do the work.

"Why?" John asked surprised and a bit shocked. The seriousness in Sherlock's tone told him that he had worked through it in his mind and found this as the only solution available.

"I won't get the full use of my legs back in the short amount of time I will now have to finish this case." Sherlock explained flatly, "Moriarty knows that he can't act in the dark anymore because I have an eye on his every move. He will try to bring his plan to fruition as quickly as he can now. I don't have the time to wait six weeks for my leg to heal. Whatever he has planned will be finished by the time I'm healed."

"And in what way won't you be able to stay within the contract? I don't see you stop working." John pointed out carefully.

"I'm not but all I can do is theoretical. I can weave together the net needed to catch him. I can plan stake outs and tell Lestrade when, where and how to take him down. I can do all of that, but I cannot catch him myself. I can barely stand up for longer than five minutes."

John paused for a moment and observed Sherlock. It was heart-breaking to see the genius absolutely crestfallen. Finally, John decided to act. He might not be able to alleviate Sherlock's pain or rush his recovery, but he could amend contracts. After all he was the devil. He made the rules, he could change them. With a swift motion he conjured up their initial contract. That thing had started a wild ride and John had to smile slightly.

"How would you phrase your abilities which would lead to the apprehension of Moriarty at the moment?" John hummed, looking for the corresponding passage in the contract.

"What?" Sherlock asked, and turned around slightly to look at John, seeing the parchment in his hand, "What are you doing?"

"No, my question first." John smirked, "I asked first so I get my answer first."

The look of confusion slowly took over that of utter defeat and while it wasn't the best it was already better John decided.

"Like I said, I can do all the work behind the scenes, but I won't be able to physically apprehend him. I need Lestrade's help not because I am too lazy but because I physically can't move enough before he will be an even bigger pain in the arse for you."

"Okay, I won't quite take the last part as you said it." John chuckled and pushed in the few alterations to the definition of the case. If any other daemon had done this he would have made their life a living hell but there was no one above him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked again.

"I amended the contract a little" John smirked, "After all 'catch' is such a broad term. Not being able to physically detain Moriarty shouldn't negate all the work you've done on your own to get him."

Sherlock looked up at John a bit flabbergasted, "Why would you do that?"

John gently placed his hands around Sherlock's face, smoothing one thumb across a sharp cheekbone, "Because you've done enough to redeem your soul twice over." He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead and murmured, "Everybody needs a little help sometimes and I don't want you to reject it because of a formality."


	11. The Devil Hides Behind the Cross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In fact, I am still trying to finish this story.

There was a sudden crash and gut-wrenching scream coming from the bottom of their stairs just when John had managed to get Sherlock to sit down and have at least a few bites to eat for breakfast. Obviously, this wasn't going to happen anymore as Sherlock sprung up like his chair had suddenly caught fire. He wrenched open the door to the flat and already saw the source of the noise in the hallway, Mrs. Hudson gripping the railing to keep herself stable. The front door was open, and it seemed like a body had just fallen through the door, surprising the old landlady who probably expected the postman behind the door. You didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to realise that there was no hope left for the poor bloke. He hadn't just spontaneously collapsed into Mrs. Hudson's arms.

"Mrs. Hudson, call Lestrade. This one is for him" Sherlock shouted and bounded down the stairs.

"Oh god, are you sure dear? Shouldn't we call an ambulance first?"

"Mrs. Hudson, this man has been dead for multiple hours. Getting an ambulance won't help him anymore but getting DI Lestrade will help me a great deal." Sherlock quickly said, rubbing his thigh while he started to look at the body more closely. His abrupt movements hadn't done well for his injury, but he couldn't really care. There was a body on his doorstep, it was fresh, no one had tampered with any of the clues and he would still have a few minutes until Lestrade's crew arrived. It was like Christmas had come early. If he couldn't nail down Moriarty with this one, he would never be able to he feared. Delivering a dead body in broad daylight was anger at its finest and angry people made mistakes. Sherlock was ignoring the crowd of interested people gathering on the street in front of the house since the door couldn't be closed without moving the body.

He took a few steps to make sure he could observe the bigger picture. It was a man in his late forties, probably stuck in an office job, making good money but without the prospects of bettering his career at least in his current company. No ring on his finger which made Sherlock stop for a moment but then he put it down to the modern affliction of always wanting something better. Overall the man was dressed like he had just been on the way home from work, so probably didn't make it home last night and somehow got into Moriarty's antics then. There were no obvious signs of murder, except that he turned up as a corpse. Sherlock went back to the head, trying to take a closer look at the face of the victim without moving him. There was a curious sense of recognition within Sherlock, as if he had already seen this man before but hadn't thought of him as important enough to make a retrievable note of him. It was just a feeling that nudged at the back of his head. There were no visible bruises to mark a fight or an unwanted restraint. Overall it just looked like the man had simply died. Nevertheless, there must have been a significance to this victim. Moriarty wouldn't just put any old body on his doorstep, wouldn't compromise himself if he didn't want to send a message. Sherlock continued his search, looking more closely at the shoes, nice but off the high street, at the suit, same deal, it was altered but not bespoke, showing the necessity to keep up an appearance rather than an interest. "You are remarkable in your unremarkableness" Sherlock murmured "If I didn't know better, I'd say you just were at the wrong place at the wrong time." He crouched lower, getting even closer to the victim’s face, smelling for the traces of poisoning. Nothing. "This is getting tedious" Sherlock mumbled, probing at the man's skin. Even close up there were no traces of an outside force but Moriarty was making deals, so why not make one to kill this man. "That could be not too unreasonable" Sherlock said and stood up.

"What is not unreasonable?" Lestrade asked, having just arrived at the flat.

"Nothing of interest, yet." Sherlock said and looked at Lestrade "Male victim, late forties, office worker I would wager a guess at insurance company, dead for at least a few hours already. Mrs. Hudson found him as he fell through our front door."

"Please don’t tell me you get your corps parts delivered to your front door, now." Lestrade sighed.

"Don't be daft. This was Moriarty and I would only order body parts, not the whole thing, and obviously they would have to be properly refrigerated." Sherlock shrugged.

"Don’t go on. Just let me believe you wouldn't do it" Lestrade interjected quickly, "Any ideas yet?"

"Apart from Moriarty sending me a present? Not really. I first need to know who he is perhaps then I can go on a little further."

"I'll see if we find him, go and check on Mrs. Hudson. That poor lady must have had the fright of her life" Lestrade decided and pushed Sherlock into the direction of Mrs. Hudson's flat, although the other was clearly starting to protest, "Sherlock, get out of my way. You had your time, now play at the side line for a moment. I'll tell you when I know more."

 

 

Half an hour later, Lestrade came through the door of 221A, having to hide his surprise a little to see Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table with a dainty china cup, drinking tea with Mrs. Hudson.

"Found him" he said triumphantly, waving a tablet computer "His name is..."

"Mark Salies, I know" Sherlock said, a slightly self-satisfied smile on his lips.

"How?"

"Mrs. Hudson recognised him. He did the insurance policies for the house" Sherlock hummed and sat down his tea cup. "Is there anything in the last victim's history that is similar to Mark's?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, having a hard time to hold back his theory before he had all the facts.

"He had a few minor run ins with the police because he had lived slightly over his means. So, a bit of doing a runner, unpaid credit cards and so on. Nothing major or at least nothing that would be uncommon in this day and age." Lestrade shrugged and left Mrs. Hudson's kitchen following Sherlock, "Why?"

"Just had an idea" Sherlock shrugged, stepping over the dead body, "Moriarty is a religious fanatic so it's only fitting that he's choosing people who commit one or more cardinal sins."

"Well, if we go with that theory, what sins have we already crossed off the list then?" Lestrade asked and stepped aside so the crime scene photography could get the necessary pictures.

"I'm not sure" Sherlock said, not enjoying the feeling one bit.

"Perhaps I can help" John offered at the top of the stairs. He hadn't come down, first not to disturb Sherlock and then to not bother the police crew.

Sherlock looked up at John and back at the corpse, biting his lip. John probably could help; the problem was that Sherlock had no idea how to explain to the DI where the miraculous discovery came from without using 'The devil checked for me' as an excuse. "Yes, might jog my memory" he mumbled and left Lestrade standing with his crew and corpse. Upstairs he pulled John behind the flat door, closing it.

"Is there a way..."

"To find out what people feel guilty about? Sure" John smirked "Hoping to figure out why that man was chosen then?"

Sherlock nodded "He's Mrs. Hudson’s insurance broker but that hardly makes him an obvious choice. I'm guessing the last three victims had been pride, envy and wrath but I can't place this one. Why would Moriarty send him? There is no reason, unless he was delivering a message."

"Let me check for you" John hummed "And we'll concern ourselves with the why later." He gently stroked his thumb across Sherlock's cheek, marvelling at Sherlock's ability to completely get stuck into a case. "Wait a moment, will you?" John said and was gone.

Sherlock couldn't help but fiddle anxiously with his fingers. It unnerved him how easy it was for John to simply vanish, leave no trace of ever having been physically there. It played all kinds of tricks on Sherlock's mind and he really didn't like that. However long John was gone, it felt like an eternity for Sherlock.

 

"Greed my dear" John hummed, coming back to Sherlock who was still leaned against the flat door, waiting "The bit Lestrade knows is nothing compared to what that man has done."

"But why send him here? Because he was greedy in life? What has this to do with anything? Or has Moriarty suddenly taking a liking to help old ladies not get ripped off by slimy insurance brokers?" Sherlock was slowly getting on thin ice, he needed any kind of straw to clasp at and pull this back into something he could investigate.

"I don't know, perhaps he thinks you're greedy for some reason" John chuckled "Although he really shouldn't be the one complaining, he's already running more than half of London's underground criminals."

"Is he now?" Sherlock asked a lot more interested and focussed on what John was saying than the background noise of the new clues whirling around in his head. "What exactly have his deals been for?"

"Sherlock, I can't really tell you that" John sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead "And it shouldn't even be relevant."

"Oh but it is" Sherlock hummed and started pacing up and down the living room, limping slightly as his leg was protesting with every step "If his deals concerned getting London's underworld under his thumb, he'll be slowly taking over all the little and large illegal dealings happening in this city, and imagine how easy it will be to spread out when you have London conquered. I don't know why that man had to die specifically but I might know what Moriarty wants." Sherlock suddenly stopped and grinned. Of course, it was easy, John didn’t even need to tell him what the deals were about exactly. He had the general idea and it was enough, Moriarty was a fanatic with just one goal. He was punishing people and Sherlock knew where every self-respecting criminal would make a move to announce their claim to power.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock called, already opening the door to sprint down the stairs, nearly falling over a very surprised police officer who had sat on the stairs to write his protocol.

"What now?"

"Within the next three days what religious days are there?"

"How... why?"

"Don't ask, google." Sherlock said impatiently and snatched the tablet computer out of Lestrade's hand, starting the search himself.

"You'd better explain yourself thoroughly" Lestrade grumbled, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"There, in two days: Corpus Cristi. He'll make a big move then." Sherlock said, turning the tablet to face Lestrade with the calendar of the St. Patrick's Catholic church open "We need a stake out and enough forces at The Nomad to apprehend Moriarty."

"Sherlock, I can't order a major police operation on a hunch you have. I need some solid evidence and a lot more information." Lestrade sighed.

"Just do it, I'll write up some stuff to fool the Commissioner and the evidence that Moriarty is a notorious criminal with a murder record should be in your file already, otherwise you did a poorer job than I expected." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You know the other murders actually aren't connected to Moriarty" Lestrade pointed out "Except in your head obviously."

"Which is the only part in this whole investigation going right. Don't worry, this one is just Moriarty and I promise it'll tie up neatly." Sherlock almost pleaded, which was unlike him, but he feared that if he let this blatant opportunity slip through his fingers, catching Moriarty would be exponentially harder for the police.

There was a moment of silence in which the DI visibly debated with himself if he could go off another of Sherlock's whims. In the past years though they had always been correct, there always had been more evidence and not just Sherlock’s word, but the man had always been right. Eventually, Lestrade took a breath "Okay, but I want your explanation by tomorrow morning and it has to be at least two pages of concise arguments otherwise no one will be convinced."

"If you organise the seize, I will even do that" Sherlock hoped that at last Lestrade would give in completely.

"Okay but know that this could absolutely break your career with us" Lestrade warned.

Sherlock nodded and took another look at the hallway and the corpse lying in it. Even if he wasn't totally right about the motivation, Moriarty would be at the church in two days’ time, there was no way around it and then, then finally Sherlock would catch him.

 

 

After what seemed like an eternity the flat was quiet again. There were no thumping footsteps on the stairs or in the hallway. There were no loud voices travelling in and out of their front door. There were no nagging officials coming back with just one more question to ask or request to fill. There was simply nothing but the all too well-known hums and clicks of the old house. There was Mrs. Hudson having turned her radio back on and pottering about in her kitchen. There was the gurgle of the old pipes as John tried to use hot water to boil the kettle quicker. There was only home.

Sherlock knew that he should be feeling some kind of achievement. He should be high on adrenalin, running always two steps ahead of Lestrade. He definitely shouldn't be sitting on his couch, legs elevated and a sense of dread settling in his stomach like a stone. But here he was. Someone had dropped off a corpse at his doorstep like an amazon delivery, giving him just enough to be reasonably certain how to connect Moriarty to the case and still Sherlock Holmes was sitting on his couch thinking ‘When this case is over John will be gone.’ It was irritating to say the least, but his mind simply wouldn't steer away from this thought. When the case was done and dusted, which by Sherlock's rough approximation would be within the next two days, he would get back his soul and John would vanish just as sudden as he had appeared. There would be no physical trace left and no way for Sherlock to accidentally meet him again. He would simply be gone. Sherlock hated that thought just as much as he hated himself for coming up with it. Here he was, depressed over the idea that the devil would just finally leave him alone. Perhaps it was this irony that made him believe falling as low as bargaining would be a grand idea.

 

"Wouldn't it be easier for you if you had an undercover persona which you could assume whenever you wanted to keep an eye on potential threats daemon or otherwise?" Sherlock asked, trying to sound as casual as he could muster. There really wasn't a lot along the lines of bargaining prowess in his repertoire. Usually, he never had to shoot that low but could either work it out for himself or have people simply tell him what he needed to know.

"Why are you asking?" John raised an eyebrow as he babysat the kettle. Since he had found out about Sherlock's knack for experimenting on everything he wasn't blindly trusting appliances anymore, even if they looked unharmed.

"Just out of interest" Sherlock hummed, deciding to look up at the ceiling because it would hide as much of his probably treacherous facial expressions from John as possible.

"You know moving as a human has more constrains than you imagine. I'm basically living in a world of cardboard. It's more annoying than you first expect" John sighed, "I can keep daemons in check much easier from where I usually am. Here I have the problem that the daemon I'm concerned with might be in the middle of rural Namibia and that's just a hassle to get to."

"And normally it isn't?"

"Nope" John shook his head and poured some hot water into a cup for Sherlock "I just call them back to where they belong and that's that. No need to sit in a big metal tube floating over a big ocean before getting into a smaller metal tube that has to land somewhere in the middle of the forest." He brought the tea over to the sitting room. There was a short glimpse of something on Sherlock's face, but John wasn't quick enough to decipher it before it had vanished.

 

It was slightly frustrating, but John moved past it since he still had a few burning questions from earlier. When Sherlock had been buzzing around the corpse, filtering through information at a pace that even John found hard to follow, there had been a few key details that stuck. Unfortunately, the police then arrived and there had been no moment for John to even begin to ask questions. Perhaps today was one of the lucky days when Sherlock actually gave him explanations instead of waving it off as obvious. So, John pulled Sherlock closer, gently beginning to run his fingers over the other's scalp, establishing a soothing rhythm.

"It seemed to me like you had some kind of revelatory moment earlier" John hummed, "Correct me if I'm wrong but I think I heard something along the lines of you knowing why this is all happening?" It was a careful attempt at getting some background on the actions Sherlock had proceeded to discuss with Lestrade earlier. Technically John wouldn't need to know the why, but he couldn’t hide that he was interested.

"Mhm" Sherlock affirmed, having closed his eyes at the soothing feeling of John's fingertips across his head. If the other continued, he might even be coerced into telling the whole story.

"Care to elaborate for me?" John smirked.

"Only if you don't stop what you are doing" Sherlock murmured leisurely. He was just starting to calm down and feel comfortable.

John chuckled "Of course not."

It took a few more moments for Sherlock to find the beginning of the thread he had unravelled earlier that day. "Well, I'm not quite sure how exactly he figured out the whole idea of you being real instead of a fairy story. It probably was some kind of 'lucky' accident, but he must have been raised in a quite strict religious setting, otherwise I doubt he would have reacted this extremely. I expect it to be quite the shock to the system to find out that beings you mostly perceived spiritually, can actually take on quite tangible forms."

"That's the problem with religions today. It's a bunch of bogus stories build around a tiny truth. " John sighed.

"Either way, he found about you existing and it then probably steeped a bit inside him to reach this extreme of a level. I mean there were a lot of technicalities he first had to sort out, so he is driven and patient. The whole thing about figuring out how to get daemons, then how to get the right ones for what he wanted, getting people to blindly follow him and getting the daemons to make a crocked deal, you must admit this wasn't a 3 am idea.

Well, he probably spent a good portion of his life figuring out all the minor details which undoubtably lead him to the underworld. I mean there is only so much you can achieve in a legal setting and usually illegally it's quicker. My rough estimation would be that he at least spent the last twelve years actively pursuing his plan. How long have you been aware of his misdemeanour?"

"About five I guess" John mused, trying to think back to when this had started. He definitely hadn't known about it when he first made Sherlock's deal.

"He managed to stay undetected for quite some time then."

"Or he simply didn't do more than ask around which isn't normally something we worry about because then we wouldn't be able to do anything but follow up on all those people." John shrugged.

Sherlock hummed softly, mulling the idea over in his head.

 

"Either way it would be terrible if Moriarty actually managed to get closer to bringing down hell on earth with him at the top." John hummed after a few minutes of silence. He had done his own bit of thinking and all the knowledge and items that man was acquiring via deals really didn't point into a direction John wanted this to go.

"Why do you think that's what he's after?" Sherlock asked, looking up at John.

"Well, you said yourself that he is probably disappointed in me not living up to the stories" John shrugged "What you humans usually do when you are disappointed is to take matters into your own hands."

"Okay but what could he do? It's not like he could just dump a largely mythical place on earth and declare himself king." Sherlock still found it rather odd to remind himself of who John was and where he came from.

John raised an eyebrow "You really haven't understood what's happening, have you?"

"To my defence, you have been less than forthcoming with your explanations." Sherlock shrugged and although his mind perked up, because it senses the opportunity for information, he couldn't help but cuddle a little closer.

"Yeah, I mean... " John started and then thought screw it. He was already too deep into this, so he could also just jump in all the way. "First of all, I'm not your patented Evil. Humans have been very good at pushing all the blame for whatever bad things happen to them on me. So, over time I've become your religious horror story which is frankly quite far from the truth. I mean yes, there is hell but I'm not the one responsible for any of your suffering, by the way none of us are. No daemon either is responsible for the shit humans get themselves into."

"But there is still a system of punishment in place, so I can't quite believe you are totally innocent here" Sherlock interjected.

"Someone has to do it. I already told you that we are not the ones deciding on the duration of the punishment. Humans usually put themselves in eternal damnation and there is nothing I can do about it. If you cannot stop feeling guilty, if you cannot allow yourself to end your suffering, there is no way you are getting out of hell. But I can't keep you there if you have decided you have suffered enough for your personal sins. It's just.... well you've jumbled it all up and now I have the problem." John sighed. He wasn't fond of the system either, but it was what it was.

"How does that work? You just keep people chained up until they say, 'Enough I'm done' or what?"

John chuckled "Nah, we don't need to keep anyone chained up. You just basically stay where you are and suffer until you are done. Then you are just gone. Imagine the hassle we would have if we had to chain and unchain everyone who came through our doors. Do you even know how many people die each day?"

"You mean there is no burning in the flames of hell and getting raped by evil spirits? Man, I can understand why Moriarty was disappointed" Sherlock grinned mischievously.

"Perhaps that will be your very personal punishment but believe me I'm not doing any of it, it’s all in there" John gently patted Sherlock's head "Or well whatever is left of it obviously. We are not that set on having complete bodies. Most can't keep it together for long either way"

"So, there are disembodied body parts floating all through hell? What kind of place do you live in?"

"You still imagine it being a place? It's not..., it's not a second planet existing apart from yours. Hell is not a place you go to, sit in a room and then leave. It's everywhere. I'm usually everywhere."

"How can it be everywhere, and no one has yet discovered it?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Because there is nothing to discover. Spirits aren't material things, so they don't need a material place to be in. Hell will be wherever you will be after you died and if that's floating two feet in the air above Leicester Square than that's where it is. Being the way, I am now isn't my natural state, this is work for me keeping all the atoms together solidly enough for you to have your head on my legs. But just imagine for a moment that hell becomes a solid place. That it suddenly really is everywhere, and people are suffering all over the place. Nearly no one will find a way out of it, because that is just your human nature. You will suffer for all of eternity before you admit to a flaw and move past it. I believe that is the power that Moriarty wants. He wants to be the one responsible for making people suffer, bringing his own justice. He wants to control this hell he has read about. That is the problem with fanatics, they never consider anything besides what they have been fed their entire lives. He wants to be what I am not and if I want to do my job well enough, I cannot let him get away with it."

 

Sherlock fell entirely silent. He never had considered the extend a failure could have. Yes, he had known that Moriarty was dangerous and that there must be a lot at stake for the devil to ask for his help. Nevertheless, the sheer size of the whole operation just started to sink in. Moriarty wasn't more than a terrorist. He was nearly no different to all the suicide bombers the world had seen over the past years. The one difference was that he wasn't contempt with people dying at his hands, he wanted to make them suffer and he wanted to make everyone suffer. He was operating on such a large scale with such tremendous knowledge that it ran cold down Sherlock's spine.

 

"He is still just a mere mortal" John said softly, pulling Sherlock out of his spiralling thoughts.

"But one you cannot touch"

"Well, you have no problem with sacrality" John shrugged "You will get him and as soon as some of his guard is down, I will also just be minorly inconvenienced. There is a reason he has gone so over board with his protection. It needs a lot to keep me away."

"And if I didn't want to keep you away?" Sherlock mused, gently biting his lower lip.

John flashed a wide grin "I'm sure you have a few tricks up your sleeve."

"Just to be sure, we could try out if they work" Sherlock hummed, "Really, just for an emergency"

"What were you thinking of?"

"Bedroom and I'll show you?" Sherlock teased John by wriggling a bit in his lap but before he could quite comprehend what was happening, John had already pulled him up and they were half way to the bed. The last thought Sherlock had before they hit the bed and his brain went blissfully offline for a while was that he should make it is new hobby to get rid of everything he felt guilty about because hell wasn't a place for him. It seemed to repetitive. He would probably get bored by his punishment.


End file.
